


As We Are

by TheCorrosivePen



Series: Darkness in My Heart (Dramione) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Battle of Hogwarts, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Complete, Death, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Horcruxes, Romance, Sequel, Sexual Tension, The Deathly Hallows, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 50,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCorrosivePen/pseuds/TheCorrosivePen
Summary: Sequel to Walk the Line (highly recommend reading that first, see Profile)In which survival means sacrifice, every moment matters and Hermione and Draco are confronted with mortality at every turn.“I told you before, Hermione. This is my choice now.”She knew that. She knew he was making his own decisions, but Merlin she wished he’d chosen to run away. Her voice was barely audible as she stared back at him, pulse racing frantically. “I know. I hate it, but I know.”His cool skin lingered a moment longer against hers before he pulled away, silver eyes hardening. “I need you to promise me you can do this. That you won’t try to save me again.”The fight against the Dark Lord begins in earnest.Complete





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel is here and what a journey it will be. Please make sure you read Walk the Line first to understand exactly where As We Are starts.
> 
> I love all of you for taking the time to read my words. It truly means the world to me. Once more unto the breach...

**~*~ Prologue ~*~**

“We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.”

– Anaïs Nin

_For Cymbal: You were the bravest itty, bitty kitty in the entire world, surviving with joy and love even as the cancer took you in the end. May all of us learn from your bravery and love, even in the darkest of times._

 

The embers smoldered in the fireplace as Hermione scanned the lines of the book in front of her. She’d read it a million times, stared at the illustrations until the colors bled together. It held the answers; she was utterly convinced of it, but had no idea what they could be. Sighing, she set down the copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_.

It had arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place some days after her trip to Spinner’s End. There had been a note with the seal of the ministry indicating that Dumbledore had left her the book. A golden snitch and a device the ministry note indicated was a deluminator had also been in the package. Hermione hadn’t touched either the snitch or the device as both Harry and Ron’s names were clearly printed in elaborate script upon the parchment tied to each. The boys hadn’t passed through Grimmauld Place in over two months and she had no idea where they were. Not that she would personally deliver the items even if they did arrive.

She’d hardly talked to anyone since the morning she’d returned, glimmering pendant at her neck. Lupin had been a bit miffed about the _stupefy_ incident in the bedroom, but hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else at headquarters. Hermione now made sure to make him fresh coffee every morning. Otherwise, it had been a solid two months of waiting for the burn of the necklace and trying to figure out the intricate workings of Albus Dumbledore’s mind.

Luna had stopped by once, moving between safe houses with her father after the attack on Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Hermione hadn’t been invited to the wedding, a slight that had spared her that particular horror. Luna had been different; her brilliant blue eyes dimmer, an oppressive gravity hanging over her. But she’d smiled at Hermione as though a veil hadn’t been drawn over her eyes. They’d talked about Draco and his decision, about the gifts from Dumbledore and the war. Luna was the only person Hermione talked to, with the rare exception of Lupin when it was just the two of them.

Hermione ran a finger down the spine of the book. It was Luna who had told her the significance of the story of the three brothers, of the Deathly Hallows. And after two months, Hermione was absolutely sure Dumbledore wanted her to learn about the Hallows, but she couldn’t ascertain a use for the knowledge. He certainly hadn’t intended to have her waste away in the Ancient House of Black while a war raged beyond its doors.

When she’d told Moody about Draco’s choice, one night long after the others had settled in their rooms, he’d stared at her long and hard, magical eye flying this way and that. Fine, he’d murmured at last. And then he’d banned her from all missions with the exception of meeting Draco or gathering information from Harry and Ron. She’d gone from utterly useless, to one of the Order’s most important assets within the blink of an eye, but it hardly mattered. She was still confined to Grimmauld Place, still stuck searching a library for answers far beyond the scope of its shelves.

Luna was convinced the Peverell brothers and the Deathly Hallows were real and having spent enough time with Luna to understand the intelligence behind those misty blue eyes, Hermione was inclined to believe her. But that left her having only the faintest suspicion of what they might be aside from the growing certainty that Harry’s Invisibility Cloak was likely the third brother’s cloak.

Her fingers traced the elaborate H dangling at her neck, the motion familiar after months. Her memories of him were blurry now, like an aged photograph with all the colors leeched away. She dreamt of him often, when she could manage to sleep at all, but there was no clear picture, only the ephemeral sense of him beside her. Even those impossible silver eyes that transformed her in unfathomable ways had begun to fade. She’d stopped expecting the necklace to burn, started listening carefully to conversation in the kitchen and the hall, for any mention of him at all. There had been nothing.

About Severus Snape, however, there had been plenty. He was now the headmaster at Hogwarts, the right hand man of the Dark Lord, the killer of Dumbledore. That lie, at least, had become truth. Some in the Order still didn’t trust Snape, but with Hermione’s memories within his purview, Moody knew better. The Auror didn’t seem inclined to share the extent of his knowledge with anyone besides Shacklebolt, Lupin and Tonks, but Hermione was mollified knowing that Moody would never make a move directly against Snape.

The embers of the fire finally died, leaving the library awash in the eerie glow of the moon spilling from the sole window. She should get to bed; attempt to sleep, or at least let her body rest while her mind travelled in nauseating circles until she could barely hold on to hope. Even the occasional dreamless sleep potion didn’t seem to work anymore. She slept, but only after weeks of exhaustion had driven her to surrender. And then it was only him, so ethereal that he slipped between her fingers as she tried to pull him to her, nothing but grains of sand blown away by the gentlest of breezes.

So Hermione studied until she could almost pretend it was okay, that Draco wasn’t risking everything for her, that he was still alive, that one day the necklace would burn.


	2. One

**~*~ One ~*~**

 

By the time the heat of the Protean charm seared into her, Hermione had forgotten to expect it. Leaves had begun to change into the full glory of autumn color, burnt orange flickering outside every window. Harry and Ron had written about a lead on a possible Horcrux. Time had moved forward at a constant drumbeat, her optimism wearing thinner with each passing day.

She was in the kitchen, the dawn barely chasing away the shadows, when the burn sent a burst of adrenaline shooting through her veins. The cup of tea in her hands crashed to the floor. The heat flared again and then disappeared. For a long moment her hand was frozen on the pendant, unable to turn it over. She’d waited for this moment for so long, and now she was moments away from knowing Draco was alive, from finally having him at her side if only for a brief meeting. Hand trembling, she turned the ornamented H over. _7 AM Huntress in Hyde Park._

Hermione blinked, fingers tracing the letters. They’d never talked about a meeting place, but she couldn’t help her surprise at the location. He’d invited her into the heart of Muggle London. Sure, Hyde Park was large, but it was far from remote. There were bound to be early morning joggers dotting the landscape. And the Huntress. Hermione knew the statue well, but had no idea how Draco would know of its existence unless he’d visited the park. That meant that while Hermione had been sequestered in the library of 12 Grimmauld Place, Draco Malfoy had been frequenting a Muggle London tourist attraction. It didn’t jive with the pompous git she’d gone to school with, but perhaps it was a perfect fit for the broken boy she’d fallen in love with, an escape in plain sight.

A glance at the clock on the wall told her she had mere minutes before the meeting time. He’d cut it close, but had also likely known she’d be able to apparate to the spot with little difficulty. She glanced down at her worn jeans and maroon jumper. It was hardly the outfit she’d have chosen for this reunion, but there was no time to change and it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her in substantially worse attire. A shiver slithered down her spine as the memory of _Sectumsempra_ brushed against her. She shook her head, ignoring it the best she could. She’d forgiven Draco the moment he’d healed her, but the imprint of the pain stayed with her, rising to the surface more often than she’d admit.

Hermione turned her focus to the shattered teacup on the floor. It was nothing a _reparo_ wouldn’t fix, but she gathered the shards with her hands instead, depositing them in the rubbish bin. She didn’t need the tea; her veins were awash with anticipation, her heart racing at the prospect of finally breathing the same air as him again. Her memories were lukewarm, hardly enough to sustain her. She needed to see him, feel him, touch him, recall what it was like to be alive.

The current members of 12 Grimmauld Place hadn’t yet stirred; it wouldn’t matter if they did. Ever since Moody had learned of Draco’s new allegiance she’d been at liberty to come and go as she pleased, just not on any mission. Lupin and Tonks had been relieved, no longer required to play the role of jailor they both detested. Hermione hadn’t taken advantage of her returned freedoms terribly often, only a dreadful trip to visit her parents before sending them to safety and when any of the Weasleys passed through. It was a relief to escape to Muggle London, far away from those dreadful stares, so laden with judgment.

The worst were the moments when she accidently met Ginny’s stare, the other girl’s eyes hard flint. Ron, Harry, the twins, she could deal with their disappointment fueled ire, but Ginny had looked up to her, seen her as the sister she’d never had. To have those kind eyes turn so cruel left Hermione swimming in guilt. And yet, she wouldn’t change it, not even now with the consequences looming at every turn. She knew he was worth it deep within her bones.

Her hand trembled around her wand as she stepped into the dawn chill. The bite of fall nipped at her skin as the swirl of apparition engulfed her. She arrived several hundred meters from the Huntress, behind a copse of trees she remembered climbing as a child. A gray mist hung heavily over the dew ridden grass, as if trying to consume the earth. She could barely make out the statue at the center of the pool, the still water reflecting only infinite gray.

Hermione edged closer to the circle of stone surrounding Diana, goddess of the hunt. Mist floated around Hermione, an ethereal coat clinging to her flushed skin. She was at the base of the statue, just able to make out the point of the cocked arrow, when she saw him.

He stood directly across from her, angled features barely discernable through the shadowed air. But he was unmistakable. Her pulse was a flutter at her throat, her feet moving toward him without thought. Then he was in front of her, his face shadowed by the hood of a black Muggle jumper, his features sharper than ever. She wanted to trace her hands across his skin, to feel the electricity that crackled between them burst to life. But she waited, lost in quicksilver pools, unable to breathe, let alone move or think.

They stood for eternity, or perhaps merely seconds, until he finally spoke. “Hermione.”

All he said was her name, but it was salvation. She stepped closer, her fingers knotting in the thick cotton of his jumper. He stared down at her hand on his arm for a heartbeat before pulling away and motioning to one of the benches. Hermione followed him silently, heart aching as he sat down on the opposite end of the bench, the space between them a chasm.

Draco pushed a strand of platinum hair behind an ear. It was longer than it had been at Spinner’s End, tied back at the nape of his neck with a few stray tendrils tracing his angled jaw. Her fingers itched to run though those silken locks, to learn just how much he had changed. But he maintained the distance between them as he placed a small pouch on the bench.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get these sooner, but I couldn’t risk his attention.” He pushed the bag further toward her.

Hermione took it, peering inside. For a moment she couldn’t tell the contents and then the mist shifted and she could see six basilisk fangs, venom dripping from their tips. She swallowed, eyes wide as she stared back at him. “How?”

A hint of humor danced through silver eyes. “A very lengthy conversation with Myrtle that I’d rather never repeat.”

She grimaced in sympathy. “But how did you get there at all?”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m head boy.” His lips twisted with distain as he spoke.

She hadn’t. They’d known that Snape was headmaster, but not that Draco had returned to Hogwarts as well. She was relieved he wasn’t in residence at the Manor with Voldemort, but a Hogwarts run by inner circle Death Eaters hardly seemed like an improvement in accommodation.

Holding her stare, eyes inscrutable, he continued, “Don’t think I’m not still his favorite errand boy. He’s merely decided that I can be useful at Hogwarts as well. After all, I am the one who opened the door for the occupation. I always thought I intimidated the younger students, being a Slytherin prefect and all. Turns out that’s nothing compared with being a known Death Eater. I’ve made Slytherins cry just by looking at them. It would be funny if it weren’t so appalling.”

He looked away from her then, emotion passing too quickly behind his eyes for her to read. “I’m sorry—“

“No,” his eyes snapped to her, darkness consuming them. “No, Hermione. You don’t get to be sorry. You sacrificed nearly everything for me and I will never forget that. I will never be done repaying this debt.”

Was that all she was to him now? A debt he could never repay? The revelation stung in new and unwelcome ways. She buried the pain deep, where she put every disgusted stare and pitiful grimace. This was just another way that Voldemort was taking from her. This was more fuel for the fire that smoldered just beneath her skin, waiting until justice could truly be served.

Hermione looked away, tears suddenly gathering behind her eyes. She would not cry in front of him, not while the battle still loomed ahead. “Anything else?” Her voice was raw, but the words were steady.

“He’s looking for the Elder wand. He doesn’t want anyone to know, but I listen even when he thinks I’m gone, a trick I picked up from you.” There was a fondness in his voice that made the tears that much harder to hold at bay.

But she’d heard of the Elder wand in her search for information on the Deathly Hallows. “He’s looking for the unbeatable wand, from the Tale of the Three Brothers.”

Draco nodded. “I’d figured as much. Do you know much about the Hallows?”

So Luna Lovegood wasn’t the only pureblood who believed in them. “I know what Luna’s told me and what I’ve managed to discover in the Black family library.”

“The Black family library?”

He wasn’t supposed to know about 12 Grimmauld Place. That was one of the few rules that Hermione had agreed with from the start. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Draco, but rather that she refused to comprise the Order in any way. “When this mess is over, I’ll tell you everything.”

He gave a small nod, the black hood falling away. Now that she could clearly see him, the skeletal nature of his cheekbones was ghastly. His eyes sagged, sunken and bruised. He looked years older, battled hardened and lethal. Her fingers traced the razor’s edge of his cheek, his skin rough, so unlike the satin she remembered. Draco pulled the hood back on and her fingers dropped away.

“The Deathly Hallows are comprised of the three objects the brothers attempt to use to thwart death. They are the Elder wand, the Resurrection stone and the cloak of invisibility. He thinks that Grindelwald had the wand at some point in the recent past and that Dumbledore won it from him.” He spoke as if he weren’t the living dead, as if she hadn’t just seen how ravaged he’d become.

“If Dumbledore did have the wand…” She trailed off, staring at him with sudden clarity. It couldn’t be that simple.

“Then we already have it.” Draco smiled then, his expression dark and perilous, the boy on the tower facing down Dumbledore. “He doesn’t know what it looks like and I plan to keep it that way.”

Hermione’s breath caught, the reality of Draco’s precarious position crashing down upon her. She’d wanted him safe, somewhere halfway around the world with his mother and father, living the life he ought to have had. Instead, he was on the front line, perhaps as much as Harry now that he harbored the Elder wand. If her nerves had been frayed before, it was nothing compared to this. She had thrust him into the middle of this battle and there was nothing she could do to save him from it.

He caught hold of her hand, stilling the trembling limb. “I told you before, Hermione. This is my choice now.”

She knew that. She knew he was making his own decisions, but Merlin she wished he’d chosen to run away. Her voice was barely audible as she stared back at him, pulse racing frantically. “I know. I hate it, but I know.”

His cool skin lingered a moment longer against hers before he pulled away, silver eyes hardening. “I need you to promise me you can do this. That you won’t try to save me again.”

Hermione choked a little, every part of her soul rebelling at his words. She would die for him in a thousand lifetimes, but there was no place for such declarations in this misty park, surrounded by a world unaware of how close disaster loomed. So she nodded. “I promise.”

He held her gaze until the tears threatened to break through again and she finally looked away, unable to bear the broken soul behind those silver orbs. “I don’t have much time,” he cautioned.

“I didn’t think you would,” she replied, her voice a hoarse whisper.

She felt him stand, felt the mist cool as he moved further away from her. She looked at him now, as the mist threatened to swallow him whole. Her whole body ached, as if she was being ripped apart, as if she was drowning and falling all at once.

Her arms were around him before she could think. His back was to her, but she could feel the heat of him again, the scent of cedar and mahogany washing over her. Draco’s shoulders were broader than she remembered, his muscles well defined even beneath the jumper. This was no longer the boy she’d surrendered to; this was a man. A man she barely knew, but would still do anything for.

He spun in her embrace until she was drowning in silver eyes. His hands rose to cup her face, his touch heating her cheeks despite the chill of his fingers. She held his stare, unwilling to break away from him, unwilling to face the reality beyond his touch. He inclined his head until his lips just whispered across her brow. “Stop waiting for me, Hermione.”

The words were barely audible, lost to the mist the minute they escaped his lips. He brushed a kiss across her skin. And then he was gone, the morning chill her only companion as she stared into the swirling mist, Diana’s arrow pointing the direction of his retreat.


	3. Two

**~*~ Two ~*~**

 

It took a week for her to work up the courage to bring the locket out of the box inside her room, buried deep within a chest. Harry had wanted to bring it with them, but Hermione had talked him out of it. It was one thing to look for Horcruxes; it was quite another to tote one around as a garish accessory. The locket gave her the willies just looking at it. When Draco had given it to her at Spinner’s End she’d thought nothing of touching the cursed object, but now she knew better. The visions it had shown her of Draco dying in a million horrendous ways, of him leaving her, calling her Mudblood scum until tears cascaded down her face had been more than enough to convince her of it’s nefarious status. She hadn’t let her flesh so much as brush it since that first nightmare ridden experience.

Hermione took a deep breath as she pulled the box from the trunk. She was alone in the house tonight, Remus and Tonks away at an Order Meeting far above her need to know level. The ministry had fallen, the use of magic by Muggleborns tracked, their names added to lists. It was ghastly, but Hermione tried not to think about it. After all, it was her task to end the monster, to find the scattered remnants of the bastard’s soul and end the horror once and for all. Harry might be fated to take Voldemort’s life, but she was damned if she wasn’t going to take her fair share of his blood.

One soul shard at a time. Her lips twisted into a venomous smile at she stared down at the locket, exposed atop an old shirt she’d used as wrapping. “This is just the beginning, Tom.”

The basilisk fang trembled in her hand a long moment until her resolve overpowered her nerves. With a savage shriek she slammed the fang into the locket. An answering wail resounded through the room as a ghostly figure emerged from the shattered casing. The air coalesced around him until he stood before her, nearly as solid as flesh and blood. So this was Tom Riddle. He was more handsome than she’d imagined, boyish good looks matching the neat black curls that kissed his alabaster skin. She’d always imagined he’d always been ugly, the stain of his soul apparent even in childhood.

“Hermione Granger,” the apparition tsked, his eyes following her as she jumped at his words. “You think you’ve won, don’t you? That Draco will be safe now that you’ve managed to destroy this piece of me?”

Her mouth was dry, fear freezing her in place. The visions she could understand, but Voldemort himself, devastatingly aware of each move she made? That was something else entirely. He smiled indulgently down at her, his handsome features compelling. She could see how he’d bewitched Slughorn; he was the picture of innocence, not even his dark eyes exposing the demon inside.

“I don’t care what you think, Tom.” He sneered at his given name, giving her confidence. “I know I will destroy you. I will take you apart piece by piece and then you will be nothing more than flesh and blood. Utterly human, Tom. No better than any other halfblood that walked this Earth.”

He lunged for her, but his hand was merely a chill to her bones, no more substantial than a cloud. “Struck a nerve, have I?”

The apparition hovered just in front of her, close enough his breath would have shifted her hair if he’d had any true life to him. “I may not be able to hurt you now, but I will end you Hermione Granger. I promise you that.”

The utter violence in his eyes finally belied the handsome visage. “I dare you, Tom Riddle. Give it your best. You will fail.”

It looked as if he would speak again, but the wail returned and suddenly there were only pieces of the locket, burnt and scattered at her feet. An acidic tang coated her tongue. She tentatively reached for one of the pieces. When it had no effect, she gathered the others, dumping the remains into the wooden box.

One down, four more to go. Would every destruction put her face to face with Riddle? Did the soul fragment she’d talked with have any ability to communicate with his corporeal counterpart? She shivered, the chill of his hand reverberating though her. If Voldemort knew what she was doing, what Harry was doing, it would all be in vain. But he didn’t seem to know that the diary or the ring had been destroyed. Hermione distinctly remembered Harry telling her about his conversation with Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, but when Voldemort returned their 4th year, he hadn’t possessed any knowledge of the events. She would have faith then, that her mission wasn’t futile and that Tom Riddle was severely mistaken.

 

~*~

 

The weeks after the destruction of the Horcrux saw the persecution of Muggleborns reach an all time high. Lupin told her most still attending Hogwarts had escaped when they could, the Order helping them and their families flee the country. Hermione felt an unwelcome kinship to Anne Frank and all the other holocaust victims that had been sequestered away, knowing it was only a matter of time until the horrors arrived on their doorsteps. But she was different; she had the power to fight back, the power to utterly decimate the maniac leading these atrocities.

She checked in incessantly with Lupin and Tonks to see if either of them had heard from Harry or Ron. It was more urgent than ever that she talk with them. She’d destroyed the locket and had a stash of basilisk fangs just waiting to unleash hell on the final souls fragments.

Their plan was going to work, if only she could tell the boys. Owls were too risky and neither Harry nor Ron had been seen at a safe house in months. So she was left to wait, to trust the Order members to secure a meeting with the boys. And even if a meeting was arranged, Hermione took a risk apparating now that she was firmly on the books as a Muggleborn. She hadn’t allowed herself to be dragged into the ministry and she’d been of age for over a year, but the Snatchers were persistent, if not intelligent. She’d taken to disillusioning herself and walking or even taking Muggle transportation instead of risking apparation.

In the fourth week, just shy of a month since she’d doomed one seventh of Tom Riddle to the great abyss, Tonks came flying into the library, her hair a shocking electric green.

She paused, gasping, before the words tumbled out. “They’re in the in the Hoia Baciu Forest, at the edge of Cluj-Napoca, Romania. You can apparate there once you’re out of Britain.”

Hermione was on her feet, racing up the stairs to her room before Tonks had finished the first sentence. She grabbed the emergency bag she kept ready, necessarily much larger on the inside than the out. She left the basilisk fangs stowed in the trunk. As much as she wanted to bring them, Draco had taken a substantial risk getting them and she could not ask him again. They were better off in 12 Grimmauld Place, kept safe behind the strongest magic of wizards and witches far more cunning than Hermione.

She took the train out of London, passing through the tunnel to France. Once there, she pulled the map from her sack, studying the location of Cluj-Napoca. She’d brought a photo guide to Romania, procured at a shop near King’s Cross, to help her determine the best apparation destination. The Hoia Baciu Forest was just at the edge of the small town and rumored to be haunted, at least according to the guide. Hermione doubted the validity of the haunting, but it ensured the site would be free of unwanted Muggles. And even if they were there, they’d write off whatever they saw as magic. The irony was not lost on her.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she pictured a small shop at the edge of the village she’d seen in the guide. The swirl of apparition tossed her about and then she was on solid ground again, her pulse a drumbeat against her temples. It was early evening, fresh snow blanketing the landscape. The sky was crystal clear, a host of stars winking down upon her.

Hermione turned in a slow circle, scanning for movement, but the town was still, as frozen as the icicles clinging to the eaves. She took a steadying breath as she turned away from the warm lights of the village. The snow crunched under her feet, dreadfully loud in the silent night. She walked through the shadowy skeletons of the trees until the village disappeared beyond the horizon. Only then did she cast her Patronus, the otter sailing into the twilight.

Then she waited, frost gathering on her eyelashes, only the creatures of the forest for company. An owl screeched in the distance, a hare bounded past, its coat white as snow. The stars spun slowly on their gyroscope, heavenly eyes watching her every move. She tried not to think, to only listen, to ignore the chill seeping down her spine that had nothing to do with the frigid night.


	4. Three

**~*~ Three ~*~**

 

Just when she could bear it no longer, Harry’s stag burst into view. The glowing animal paused a moment before her, its head tossing to the side as it turned. The Patronus moved slower now, allowing Hermione to keep up with it as they wound deeper into the forest. The twilight had been fully swallowed by the night and with no moon to light the path, the forest was only deep shadows and oppressive darkness. Her skin tingled with the eerie sense of eyes tracking her every move. It felt as if the trees themselves were inspecting her, reaching out with their spindly branches to caress her frozen skin.

Hermione was well and truly spooked by the time the glowing stag led her through the protective wards surrounding the tent. Even with the warm glow of the fire suddenly lighting the darkness, she couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of dread.

Harry stood next to the flames, his green eyes flickering in the dim light. She wished she could be glad to see him, that this could be a happy reunion instead of an impersonal exchange of information. But time had not mellowed his rage and Hermione had neither the time nor energy to mend that wound, if it could even heal. Ron was out of sight, perhaps avoiding her altogether as usual.

“The locket’s been destroyed.” There was no point in pleasantries, not with such scorn locked behind green eyes.

Harry blinked and for a second the ire was gone, replaced by genuine surprise. “How?”

“Basilisk fang. I have five more for the remaining Horcruxes.” Draco had truly delivered their salvation with those fangs. Now it was only a matter of finding the remaining four and obliterating them.

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Seeing as how you haven’t left 12 Grimmauld Place in the last six months, I imagine Malfoy has something to do with this.”

“He got them from the Chamber of Secrets,” she admitted. Harry hadn’t taken kindly to the news that Draco was helping them, but he was intelligent enough to know they needed all the help they could get.

“Bloody savior of us all,” he sniped, the anger returning in full force.

Hermione ignored the comment. “I was able to destroy the locket at Grimmauld Place. Now it’s a matter of finding the others and bringing them back to be destroyed too.” She sighed. “It’s bad back home, Harry. They’re rounding up Muggleborns and forcing them to register. Snatchers are everywhere. We need to act quickly before there isn’t anyone left to fight for.”

His eyes softened as he listened, his shoulders slumping as he ran a hand through disheveled black hair. “I know. We have a lead on Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. I’m pretty sure it’s the Hufflepuff Horcrux and that he’s given it to one of his followers to hide. Not sure about Ravenclaw’s object yet, but Ron and I think Nagini may be another one.”

It was more than they’d had the last time they met. If they got the cup, that was only three left. “How do we track down the cup?”

Harry’s expression was a cross between disgust and resignation as he spoke. “We ask Malfoy or Snape.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped momentarily, eyes widening. Harry had thrown a fit when Moody had told him about Draco and Snape, absolutely sure that Dumbledore’s murderer and his closest accomplice were not on their side. Whatever else Moody had said convinced Harry, but he had never actively asked for them to help before. Not that he could ask in an Order Meeting. No one beyond Moody, McGonagall, Tonks, Lupin, Harry and Ron had been told. There were definitely leaks in the Order and this was a secret too dangerous to let drift through unprotected minds.

“Ask bloody Malfoy what?” Ron had emerged from the tent, perhaps confused that Harry wasn’t currently berating Hermione. Or perhaps he’d just woken up. His red hair flew in every direction and he kept rubbing at his eyes.

“Honestly, Ronald…” Hermione trailed off, suddenly hyperaware that she hadn’t talked to him in six months and that whatever urge still existed to chastise him was more than likely unwelcome.

Ron ignored her completely, staring with wide blue eyes at Harry, his question still hanging in the air between them. Harry cleared his throat. “Ask him to help locate the cup.”

“Why the bloody hell would we do that?” Ron’s eyes were colder than Harry’s now. “I’m not asking Voldemort’s little lap dog for any help at all.”

Chilled air slammed into her as the wards cracked, the sound echoing through the desolate forest. Harry and Ron stared back at her, terror chasing away all other emotion. Voices were coming closer to them, footsteps crunching in the snow. Hermione sprung into action, her wand waving at Harry’s face in frantic sweeps until the scar was gone and boils coated his skin. Then she turned to Ron, quickly changing his hair to a muddy brown that left him looking more like Seamus Finnegan than a Weasley.

A meaty hand closed around her wrist before she could turn the wand on her own features. She swallowed down the yelp of pain as the man yanked her to him, his breath rancid in her face. “What do we have here, Williams?”

His thinner counterpart chuckled as he grabbed Harry and Ron by their collars. “I think we’ve caught ourselves a few wild Muggleborns. Best to bring them in, for the betterment of society and all.”

The oaf holding Hermione peered down at her face, recognition sparking in his eyes. “Williams! I do believe this is Hermione Granger, Potter’s Mudblood whore.”

Harry growled, ripping lose from Williams’ grip. The thin man hissed, easily yanking Harry back to him. “And might this be Potter?”

Hermione’s captor shuffled them over to stand beside Harry, his eyes scanning over the multitude of boils. “Might be, can’t tell for sure. Best to bring them all in and let the Dark Lord decide for himself.”

Her blood froze solid in her veins. No, there was no way they would survive an encounter with Voldemort. Never mind if they looked like themselves or not, he would easily be able to breach their minds. The cost of that trespass was unfathomable. Not only their hunt for Horcruxes exposed, but also Draco and Snape.

She let out a blood-curdling screech as she pulled away from the men, her wand weaving dark incantations she’d only heard from Draco’s lips. The thin man ducked her curse while the other came at her, not with magic but rather the full might of his hefty frame. She slammed into the ground, air rushing out of her lungs.

The man laughed down at her, his smile all teeth. “Feisty one, but you know I like ‘em like that.”

Both Harry and Ron hissed at that, struggling, but their wands were already in Williams’ hand. Hermione shook her head at them; it was no use. Harry’s green eyes were suffused with something like regret or sorrow as he stared down at her.

Hermione inhaled deeply as the man unceremoniously hauled her to her feet, cursing Mudblood scum beneath his breath. This was nothing she couldn’t handle. She’d been tortured before, she knew the bitter taste of blood in her mouth and despair in her heart. And just as before, Draco’s life was on the line, but now Harry and Ron joined him. That would only make it easier to crawl deep inside to the part of her that didn’t feel that pain, the part that held on to hope even when she could not.

If Voldemort didn’t know there was anything to look for, if they convinced their captors Harry wasn’t among them, then they stood a chance. She met Harry and Ron’s stares with steel in her own. They would do this because there was no other choice. Slowly, the fear seeped away from the boys until only determination was left. Hermione nodded, the gesture subtle, before she turned away, allowing the man to drag her behind him as a portkey dropped into his hand.

The disorienting journey tore at her composure, but she landed on her feet, flint in her eyes. She could hear Harry and Ron tumble to the floor beside her, but Hermione didn’t look at them. She scanned the room slowly, taking stock of its contents. A large mantle and fireplace took up an entire wall while ornate furniture littered the room. It was oversized, clearly the parlor of some kind of country estate. Besides the Snatchers, a handful of men in Death Eater robes milled about, turning toward the intruders with maniacal grins adorning their ugly faces.

There was a commotion in a hallway adjoining the parlor. Hermione staggered, bottom dropping out of her stomach, as Narcissa Malfoy flew into the room. She was supposed to be in France at least, if not another continent entirely. Hermione hadn’t risked everything last year only to have Draco’s mother still directly under Voldemort’s thumb. The air suddenly felt too thin, not nearly enough to sustain the ragged breaths that tore through her. The sudden appearance of familiar silver eyes shattered the last of her control. Her legs gave out, only the cruel grip of the snatcher keeping her aloft. Draco stared back, cruel ice framing his pupils. He would not help her here, his own ties binding him as much as the hands holding her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Narcissa Malfoy managed to sound dignified even with a motley crew of Death Eaters and Snatchers populating her parlor.

“Found ‘em in the woods in Romania. They triggered the Taboo. Recognized one of them as Hermione Granger and we think this one,” he indicated Harry’s boil covered visage, “could be Potter.”

Harry clambered to his feet, green eyes spitting fire. Narcissa Malfoy took a step closer, surveying his features with indifference. “I can’t tell. I never knew Potter very well.”

“But Draco did,” a singsong voice called from the hall, sending another burst of chills down her spine. Bellatrix Lestrange. There was no mistaking Draco’s aunt’s voice, the maniacal lilt clinging to her every word.

Draco’s cold eyes slanted toward his aunt as she entered the parlor. She grinned, overly saccharine and terrifying, as she eyed Harry. “Draco, be a dear and come here. I really need to know if this is Potter or not before I call him.”

He moved with indolent ease to stand beside Harry. Hermione had never realized how much taller he was than either Harry or Ron. Or maybe that had happened after they’d scattered to the four winds. He loomed over Harry now, his broad chest and toned arms eclipsing Harry’s lithe frame. Silver eyes made a show of searching Harry’s face even though he must have known immediately the identity of her companions.

At last, he stepped away, shrugging. “I can’t tell for sure, but there doesn’t appear to be any scar. Looks more like Longbottom than Potter to me.”

Bellatrix hissed in annoyance, shoving Draco out of the way to get a better look. “I suppose so. Though I think I know how to determine for sure. Dear, this is your last chance to tell me who you are before I take the Mudblood apart piece by piece.”

Harry flinched, but held his ground. “I’m not telling you shit.”

“Take them to the dungeons and pay these men,” Bellatrix commanded, clearly the highest ranking Death Eater in the room. The other Death Eaters moved toward them and Hermione was passed from one captor to another. “No! You idiots. Take the boys. Leave her for me.”

Hermione had known it was coming, but that didn’t stop the tendril of fear that coiled in her belly. Every facet of her being rebelled against the prospect of infinite pain, but she held herself in check, forcing the fear down. She would let Bellatrix Lestrange rend her limb from limb and she would never say a word. If she died and Harry and Ron lived, if Draco’s secret stayed hidden, then it would be worth every scream, every impossible pain. This was war and she would not cower in the face of her duty, no matter how hard her hands shook or her breath stuttered.

The first attack came without warning, a _Crucio_ to the back. A strangled yelp escaped her as she tumbled to the ground at the madwoman’s feet, cackles echoing in her ears. Bellatrix’s boot crunched into her ribs, sending her flying across the Oriental rug. Then the pain was back, but she could see Draco now, could see the chaos behind the ice as he held her stare. He couldn’t spare her, but he had stayed, his unwavering gaze a promise that she was not alone. She drowned in silver over and over as the tide of the pain rose to impossible heights. And yet, she never lost sight of the silver, never closed her eyes.

When she was nothing but chattering teeth and twitching limbs, the monstrous woman knelt before her, breath cloying Hermione’s remaining senses. “I have a gift for you. It will remind you who you are.”

Bellatrix whispered a dark incantation as she held her wand against Hermione’s forearm. The pain was instant, as brutal as the _Crucio_ had been. Blood dripped on the rug as letters began to take shape. Hermione broke the stare with Draco to glance down at the word forming against her skin. Mudblood. It lacked creativity, but made up for that in cruelty. She found his eyes again, her focus swimming as tears stained her cheeks. Had she been crying this whole time? She couldn’t remember, couldn’t feel anything beyond the infinite pain, its tendrils burning through her every nerve.

“Give her here.” Draco’s hard voice cut through the haze.

Bellatrix swam into focus, a smile growing on her cruel lips. “Does Draco want to play with the Mudblood? I promise I won’t tell.”

“So what if I do, Aunt Bella. He told me to take whatever I want.” The sneer on his face was horrifying, a promise of pain. It took her a moment to realize it was for his aunt, but even then a tremor raced through her. Somewhere she knew he didn’t mean it, but the pain ravaged girl on the floor couldn’t remember that.

“Please yourself, Draco,” the madwoman said with a roll of her eyes. Hermione whimpered as Draco roughly pulled her up, slinging her over his shoulder with enough force to make her raw throat cry out again. She caught sight of Narcissa behind them, an appalled expression on her face as her son strolled out of the room, Hermione still moaning in excruciating pain with every step he took.


	5. Four

**~*~ Four ~*~**

 

The pain clouded everything. Even breathing hurt as she shifted, a mattress soft beneath her. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the dimly lit room. She was on a bed, covers pulled up to her chin, an oversize canopy stretching out above her. A small gasp escaped her lips as she tried to sit up, the pain instantly stilling the effort.

“Don’t try and move.”

Draco moved into her field of view, his gaunt features skeletal in the candlelight. The back of his hand was cool against her forehead as he knelt beside the bed. She smiled up at him. “You saved me.”

Pain tore through his eyes. “Hardly. I don’t deserve any credit. I’ve spared you a night in the dungeons, that’s it.”

She ignored the flare of pain in her arm as she reached up to gather his cool hand in hers. “That’s everything.”

He shook his head, hair falling forward to obscure his face. It was long enough be a curtain, preventing her from studying his tortured eyes. Even with the pain lingering, need coiled within her, begging her to touch him, to bring his forbidden lips against her own. They may have changed, but the desire still burned just as hot, powerful in ways she would never understand.

“Kiss me.”

His gaze shot up, platinum hair no longer a wall between them. “What?”

“Kiss me. Please… I can’t stand being this close to you without…” Hermione trailed off, unable to put the feeling into words.

His haunted eyes were wide. “I can’t do that.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“You should be. Look what happened tonight. You, Potter and Weasley were moments away from discovery. You’re lucky you managed to alter Potter’s appearance in time. I couldn’t have protected any of you if my aunt had realized the truth. I may have some special consideration from the Dark Lord, but I cannot keep you safe if Potter’s identity is discovered.” He moved away, his hand tearing from her feeble grasp.

“We didn’t know about the Taboo,” she admitted. “We thought we were being safe.”

He spun on her, fire chasing away ice in his eyes. “You thought? It doesn’t matter what you thought, Hermione! You’re here and now it’s my job to get the three of you out of here before Bellatrix gets bored of making you scream and decides to call him here after all.”

Hermione had nothing to say to that. He was right.

Draco’s glare tempered as he moved back to her. “I…” It seemed words were scarce for him as well.

She reached out a hand. “Just sit with me.”

He nodded, brushing platinum hair behind an ear as he climbed onto the bed beside her. Her head settled in his lap, the fabric of his emerald jumper soft against her cheek. She traced the sharp angle of his jaw with a hand and he didn’t stop her. Just as in the park, the angles of his defined features were shocking, his face too gaunt. And yet, he was the same. His lips were still full, an invitation she could never refuse. His eyes still a conduit to his soul.

The silver orbs were luminous now, all mist and frost abandoned in the safety of his bedroom. She could see tracks where tears had dried on his cheeks. Her fingers traced them absently. He let out a shuddering breath as her fingers moved on to his parted lips, but still he didn’t stop her. She shifted, sliding up his firm chest, her hands bracing on his biceps.

“Kiss me.”

This time he didn’t refuse her. His lips were desperate against hers, filled with more hunger than she remembered. The scrape of his teeth and the heat of his tongue against hers excised the pain, rendering her breathless in all the right ways. The heat of his skin was a drug, an addition she would not fight. They clawed his jumper and shirt off before his careful hands gently coaxed her garments free.

She was straddling him now, heat pooling between her thighs where she ground against him. But Draco made no move to shed further clothes, instead dragging fire across her skin with his mouth and dexterous fingers until she was trembling, lost in a sea of pleasure. She wanted to drown in him, to lose herself entirely until there was only the sense of totality, the utter completeness that only he could evoke.

Hermione traced every inch of him with her fingers, the scars marring his sculpted chest, the lines at the corners of his eyes, the rough stubble of his jaw. He watched her, eyes laden with more than mere desire. She tangled her hands through his silken hair, drinking in his quiet moan as her nails scraped against his skin. Then his mouth was writing new stories against her lips, impossible stories that would never come true. But she drank them in, savored them until she could almost believe.

Eventually he slipped under the covers beside her, his toned arms pulling her securely against his chest. She counted the beats of his heart against her back until his breathing evened and she too surrendered to exhaustion.

 

~*~

 

The morning light was a cruel reminder that paradise was far from won. Spasms of pain lingered, shooting through her limbs at random intervals, making Hermione twitch in the circle of his arms.

“I can help with that,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep as he shifted against her.

She rolled to face him, doing her best not to react to seeing him in the light of day. His skin was pallid, his eyes more sunken that she’d realized. Her stomach twisted, nausea rising. This was killing him. She’d known, but the harsh light of the morning sun allowed no secrets or denials.

As if sensing her thoughts, he turned away from her. She watched him pull the jumper over his head, unsure of what to say to bridge the sudden gap between them. He spared her the effort.

“Dobby!”

With a crack the house elf was standing in front of him. “Master Draco! Harry Potter is in serious danger.”

Draco’s expression was grim as he nodded. “I already know, Dobby. Would you be able to help me get them out?”

The elf turned, ears bobbing in excitement as he saw Hermione. “Hermione Granger! Dobby has missed seeing you!”

“How?” Hermione looked between them in confusion. Last she’d checked Dobby hated Draco and every other Malfoy.

“We met at Hogwarts,” Draco answered, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes, yes!” Dobby agreed. “Master Draco is much better than he used to be and has been helping Dobby sMuggle students out of the school because the evil wizard is trying to hurt them.”

Hermione was momentarily blown away. Draco had a hand in helping the Muggleborns escape? It seemed impossible, but this man who stood before her wasn’t the terrified boy intent on letting Death Eaters into the castle. He’d become something incredible while she’d wasted away in a dark library, struggling to maintain hope.

“I can get Hermione out if you take care of Potter and Weasley. We’ll have to make multiple jumps to lose them and I can’t take Hermione the same place you take Potter.” He didn’t look pleased with the idea, but she understood. He couldn’t be implicated with Harry, no matter what.

“Dobby will not fail,” the elf reassured. Then he was gone and Hermione was clutching her forgotten jumper to her chest. Had she really just forgotten how few clothes she was wearing? She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks as she pulled her clothes on.

Draco didn’t seem to notice as he paced the length of the room, his hair pulled back in a messy knot at his neck. “I’m going to ask you to do something dangerous.”

“Everything I do is dangerous.”

He paused a moment, silver eyes sliding toward her. “More dangerous.”

“I can handle it, Draco.” And she could. She’d lived through a torture session with the queen of the damned the night before and she was still in one piece aside from the raw skin of her forearm. Her strength might not be infinite, but she’d learned how to make it stretch, how to tear herself apart while keeping all the pieces.

“We can’t apparate out. It would trigger too many of the wards and they’d know I’d help you. So we have to walk you out the front door.” His eyes were sharp with expectation.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “You want me to disillusion myself. You know that’s no guarantee they won’t see me.”

“I know how good you are. It’s the best of a lot of terrible options. I don’t want you to do this, but I can’t think of another way of here. Dobby has to take each person individually, so I can’t have you with him too. The odds of him making it would be too low.”

And they couldn’t risk Harry like that. She pushed up from the bed, knees trembling under the full force of her weight. For Draco, for Harry, she would suffer this too. It took several steps to feel firm on her feet again, but by the time she’d crossed the room to where Draco stood, she almost felt human again.

“When?”

“Now, before the lot of the them get up. It’ll likely only be mother and Bella in the dining room at this hour.” She couldn’t help the shudder that rocked her frame at the thought of his aunt. A strong arm gripped her chin, forcing her head up. “I know you can do this. Pretend she isn’t there. Whatever it takes.”

Whatever it takes. That was a mantra she was familiar with. She’d changed the course of the man who stood before her; she could handle sneaking around Malfoy Manor. Swallowing back the fear and doubt, she nodded to him. “Let’s go.”

He brushed a kiss across her cheek, his lips hovering over her ear. “You can do this.”

She wanted to pull him back, force those lips against her skin and forget again, but there was no such luxury by the light of day. “I know.”

He slid her wand from the bedside table, clearly stolen from whichever Death Eater had initially disarmed her. “You’ll need this. Don’t apparate anywhere near the Manor. There are wards for miles. We’re in Whiltshire. As soon as you find a town take Muggle transit and stay disillusioned as much as you can.”

“I got this,” she assured, the words as much for her as for Draco.

“I’ll contact you as soon as I can, but it might be a few weeks. I can’t imagine he’ll be pleased with Potter escaping his grasp, even if no one was sure it was actually him.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes, weary exhaustion descending over him. He reached past her to the table where her wand had sat, a jar in his hand as he stepped back. “I couldn’t get your bag without arousing suspicion, but take this as well. Dobby makes it and I use it after…”

After Voldemort tortured him. She’d speculated as much, but had avoided thinking about it, unable to stomach the possibility. It seemed torture was something of a currency among the Death Eaters. The nausea roiled again, his gaunt features taking on another meaning. This had to end, the utter disregard for human life, this hunger for power that left only ash in its wake. Voldemort had to end.

Her resolve hardened, she took the jar from him, letting her fingers linger against his for a long moment. Finally she stepped away, wand in hand, jar stowed in a pocket of her jumper. Silver eyes held fast to her, chaos warring supreme.

Finally, he broke the stare and moved to open the bedroom door without a glance back. She could feel the disillusionment charm settle over her, welcomed the silky darkness brushing against her skin. Then she followed him, careful to match the cadence his footfalls. They met nobody until they passed by the open arch to the dining room where Narcissa and Bellatrix sat as he’d predicted.

“Morning Draco,” Bella greeted with a lascivious wink that turned Hermione’s stomach.

Draco slipped away from Hermione to place perfunctory kisses on both women’s cheeks. “Morning ladies.”

Narcissa expression barely hid her disappointment as she looked up at her son. “Draco.”

“No playmate this morning?” Bellatrix asked, her sharpened nails tracing the stenciled flowers of her teacup.

Draco’s expression morphed into one of repulsion. “Once was enough. Mudblood is just so dirty. I put her back where she belongs in the dungeons before midnight.”

Alarm flared through Hermione at the statement, but neither woman seemed to find fault with his story. If anything, Narcissa looked relieved. Bellatrix smiled, the expression wicked and cruel. “All the more fun for me.”

“Indeed.” Draco barely reacted at all. “I’m off for my morning walk. I’ll be back by the usual time. Don’t ruin the fun for everyone while I’m gone, Bella.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” was her coy response. Hermione looked away, unable to bear the sight.

Draco continued his journey to the Manor doors without so much as a backward glance at the dining room, for which she was eternally thankful. She followed in his footsteps across the lawn and through a garden blanketed in snow. He kept walking until Malfoy Manor was a mere dot upon the horizon.

He slowed then, allowing her to fall into step with him. “It’s still not safe here, but this is as far as I go on my morning walks. If you keep going down the road, you’ll find a village. Don’t stop there; it’s a magical village and they’ve all sworn allegiance to my father. Wait until the Muggle village several kilometers further down the road.”

She nodded, but realized immediately he couldn’t see her. “Okay.”

“Be safe, Hermione Granger.”

Hermione hated not touching him in that moment, but there could be prying eyes anywhere and words would have to do. “Take care of yourself, Draco.”

He gave the briefest of nods and then turned back toward the manor. Hermione watched until Draco disappeared into a mirage of snow, the grounds of the Manor swallowing him whole.


	6. Five

**~*~ Five ~*~**

 

It was nearly two months after the Malfoy Manor disaster that Hermione found herself face to face with Harry and Ron again. She’d known they’d survived, that Dobby had not, soon enough, but the boys had been shuffled between safe houses at a dizzying rate, never staying in one place long enough for Hermione to visit via Muggle means. It had taken weeks, but Hermione had finally convinced Moody and Lupin the boys would be safe at 12 Grimmauld Place, at least for an hour or two.

Harry stood in the doorway to her room, hovering, while Ron stomped his way across the room to collapse on her bed. “Why do none of our houses have decent mattresses?”

It was so like the old Ron that Hermione couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up. “Honestly, Ronald.”

This time he didn’t ignore her. The tips of his ears were distinctly pink as he sat up to face her. “Look, Hermione. I think I’ve owed you an apology for a while now. I mean Malfoy is a complete wanker, but he did save all our lives at the Manor, so I guess I can’t be that mad at you.”

“And he helped all those kids out of Hogwarts,” Harry added begrudgingly. “I’m never going to like him, Hermione, and I still don’t trust him, but I’m not going to take that out on you. The bastard saved my life and, well, that’s that best I can do right now.”

She hadn’t expected that they would ever forgive her for the Vanishing Cabinet, but war tended to put things in perspective. Dumbledore’s death was still a gulf between them, but at least there was a bridge now, rickety though it might be. “Alright.”

Harry’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was more than she’d hoped for. “We’ve figured out the Ravenclaw Horcrux is at Hogwarts somewhere. And thanks to some observations by the Goblin we rescued, we know the Hufflepuff Cup is in the Lestrange vault.”

Hogwarts was easily enough to penetrate, but what would they do about the Gringott’s vault? “I can get to the one at Hogwarts and probably the vault, but I’ll need Draco’s help.”

Ron looked like he’d eaten a sour plum, but Harry only nodded. “I suspected as much. We’ll need to focus on finding the final two. Or really the final one since I’m a hundred percent sure Nagini is one. And no, I don’t have any solid evidence, but some of my dreams have been from the snake’s perspective. I think it’s likely that I’m tied to the snake because I’m tied to him. Meaning the snake has a chunk of his soul stuffed into it.”

“I believe you.” The idea was revolting, but likely correct. Which left them at sea in terms of the final Horcrux. “I’ll see if Draco has any ideas about the final object. There hasn’t been an object from Gryffindor, but he may not have made one. Riddle already hated Dumbledore by the time he started splintering his soul.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what went through that psychotic head of his,” Ron agreed.

“Well, we don’t have to think about it this instant,” Hermione allowed. She turned back to Harry, a lump gathering in her throat. “I was sorry to hear about Dobby and Hedwig.”

Mist dimmed Harry’s bright green eyes as he looked away. “He was so brave. Wouldn’t stop until he got all of us. Me, Ron, Dean, Luna, Ollivander and the Goblin.”

And Draco had thought three would be too many. Had he even known about the other prisoners in the dungeons? She couldn’t say for sure. Nine months ago she would have believed he’d spare her but lift no finger to help the others. Now she wasn’t sure. “I’m glad you all could find safety. And I’m so sorry. He was so happy to help you that morning.”

“Morning?” Ron looked at her, confusion spreading across his face. “Where did you go that night? We heard you…”

Screaming. She could barely remember the pain, her mind had cast it away to a place where it couldn’t seep into her consciousness, but that didn’t stop it from pervading her dreams. When she did sleep now, it was to the echoes of her own screams. The only thing that kept her from truly unraveling was the rage within her soul, the iron resolution to end Tom Riddle and all of his creations.

Her hands tangled in her lap to hide the trembling as she collapsed to sit beside Ron on the bed. “Bellatrix tortured me, _Cruciatus_ and whatever other spells she could think of. And then she did this.” There were audible gasps from both Harry and Ron as she rolled up the sleeve of her jumper. “Draco couldn’t stop it, not without risking all of us, but afterward he made it sound like… like he wanted to… use… me. But of course he didn’t. I spent the night in his bedroom and talked with Dobby the next day.”

Harry’s eyes flashed between the _I will not tell lies_ scar on his hand and the word carved into her arm. “I will kill him, Hermione. I promise you I will.”

Ron nodded in agreement, purpose settling over his lanky frame. “We’re going to destroy every last trace of that snake.”

Hermione smiled, the expression grim and dangerous. “Yes, we are.”


	7. Six

**~*~ Six ~*~**

 

The first hint of spring was in the air by the time Hermione heard from Draco again. Harry and Ron had gone underground, their campsite moving daily as they searched for the final Horcrux. The basilisk fangs still sat in her trunk, waiting for the opportune moment. She’d known he was alive this time. The Daily Prophet, firmly in Voldemort’s hands now, had featured him numerous times as the proud face of the new Hogwarts. So she’d watched the smile that never truly reached his eyes parade across the front page for months as Voldemort continued to make further inroads into the Ministry and the freedoms of Muggleborns.

Hermione knew patience was necessary, but her blood boiled every day she was met with Voldemort’s “progress.” The Ministry was nothing but a cesspool of scum and villainy, no true governing agency if they would bow to such a tyrant. If she saw one more picture of Umbridge she might actually apparate to Ministry itself and wreak what destruction she could upon it.

Thankfully, Draco’s summons to Hogsmeade came before she was forced to take such drastic steps to maintain her sanity. He’d given her enough time to make it there using purely Muggle transportation, which meant a bus, a train and then a cab to the nearest town. Hogsmeade was a purely magical community, but just down the valley there was a small enclave that served the houses scattered about the vale. It wasn’t an easy hike from there to Hogsmeade, but it was doable.

Her boots were slick with mud and her breath heaving in a way that told her sitting around 12 Grimmauld Place wasn’t doing her any good by the time she arrived. She stayed on the outskirts of the village, disillusioned and careful not to leave tracks. The trees were just beginning to bud, the hum of the birds rising above the hustle and bustle of the town. It would have been idyllic if not for the invisible shroud that sullied the air. Even from the edge of the village, she could see multiple Death Eaters amongst the crowd, their inhuman masks glinting in the sun, discordant against the flowering bulbs and bright storefronts.

Being more careful than ever before, Hermione picked her way across the mud to the Shrieking Shack. No one was about and it was easy enough to duck around the open door and enter the ramshackle building. She continued until she was in the main sitting room, the carpet still stained with her blood. She looked quickly away, grinding her teeth against the memories of that night. It seemed a lifetime ago and it may well have been. But her fury had solidified that night, after the blood and tears and loss. And it had stayed with her every day since, growing into something truly formidable within the recesses of her broken soul. No, she would not remember the pain; she would remember the resolve, the red-hot desire for revenge that still burned within.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

She hadn’t ended the disillusionment charm, but it didn’t surprise her that Draco could see through the enchantment now. “I’m here. Although I don’t fancy hiking back down anytime soon.”

“I do have my own room, being Head Boy and all.”

She walked closer to him, raising a hand to rest on his firm chest. “Is that a proposition, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Do you want it to be?” There was a trace of mischief in his eyes that sent her pulse hammering, memories of his skin against hers surging to the surface. He stepped away before the moment could become anything else, silver eyes suddenly somber. “I’ve found another one.”

Whatever desire had lingered was tamped out by the sudden flood of adrenaline. “You’re sure?”

He nodded, platinum strands escaping the tie to rest against his pale skin. He looked better than the last time, his face fuller and less ghostly. Perhaps he’d been spending more time at Hogwarts than the Manor. “I want to show you just to make sure. Can you follow me?”

“I perfected that a long time ago,” was her wry reply as she strengthened the disillusionment charm. “Lead the way.”

It didn’t take long for her to realize their destination. A sense of déjà vu settled over her as she trailed him up the steps to the Room of Requirement. They had been here before, perhaps exactly a year ago, and yet everything was different. She was hiding to save her own life, not his. The castle was safe for him, but not her. So many things turned upside down and sideways until she couldn’t recognize them anymore.

He let out a sigh when the door to the room clanged shut behind them, his stance finally relaxing. They were in the room of hidden things again, the Vanishing Cabinet still looming at the center of the clutter. Neither of them looked at it.

“There’s a tiara here that looks an awful lot like Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem. I cornered the Gray Lady the other day and she mentioned something about stealing her mother’s diadem—“

“Wait, the Gray Lady is real? And she talked to you?”

Draco blinked back at her. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes, but her reaction was based on who he had been. She supposed the Death Eater smuggling children to safety would be known to all ghosts. Sighing, she shook her head. “I suppose not.”

The intensity behind his silver eyes stole her breath away. He started speaking again, breaking the connection. “I let myself into the Ravenclaw common room, perks of being Head Boy, and there was a statue of her wearing that.”

They’d stopped by a pile of rusty cauldrons and tattered books, but in front of the stack was a wooden box, it’s top propped open just wide enough to expose the sparkle of silver and blue. Draco tipped the lid fully back, revealing an ornate bird with silver wings and gigantic blue sapphires for its body and tail feathers. The intricate figure was set atop a thin silver band, leaving to doubt as it its purpose.

“I remembered it from last year. Spent an awful lot of time in this bloody room, but I suppose you already know that.” He swallowed, looking suddenly away from her.

Hermione searched about the rubble around them, finding an old handkerchief to wrap about the diadem. The encounter with Riddle when she destroyed the beautiful piece would be harrowing enough. As she dropped the wrapped Horcrux into her bag, she turned back to Draco. He was staring at the Vanishing Cabinet in the row beyond, silver eyes broken and haunted.

“Is there a reason your mother is still in Britain?” She’d wanted to ask that morning at the Manor, but escape had taken precedence over such petty questions.

He didn’t look away from the cabinet. “She refuses to leave father and father, although out of prison, still believes in the madman living in our house. I think he lost his mind, maybe Azkaban or maybe the Dark Lord, but he’s been robbed of any sense.”

“How do you do it?”

He finally looked down at her, shadows tearing at his eyes. “Do what?”

“Live… continue on knowing she’s in such danger every day? I… I sent my parents to Australia last summer, as soon as Moody cleared me to leave headquarters. I couldn’t stand the thought of them dying for me so much that I stole their memories and sent them half a world away.” She’d refused to think about what she’d done until now. There had been Draco, Harry and Ron to worry about, the peril so much more immediate, but now, in this room of forgotten things, the ache became spear though her heart, acute and terrifying. “They don’t even know I exist.”

He was beside her now, his cool hands wiping away the tears. “I don’t know. I just tell myself I have to make it through today. I don’t have the luxury of planning ahead, imagining happily ever afters. That’s a fool’s errand and you know that better than anyone.”

She knew; she knew so much it hurt. Even Draco, currently standing with her, could not be part of any plan. There was only the end game; the rest was collateral damage whether she liked it or not. She pulled away from him, wiping the tears on her shirtsleeve. “Forgive me.”

“You’re allowed to be human, Hermione.” The haunted darkness was back in his eyes.

She shook her head. “Not until he’s dead. Every single piece of him.”

Draco bowed his head. In defeat or acknowledgement she couldn’t say. “You can’t destroy it until we find the others. I don’t know how, but he knows about the ring and the locket now. He suspects it’s Potter, but he has eyes throughout the Order.”

“We never told the Order,” she admitted, still brushing away the stubborn tears. “You, me, Snape, Harry and Ron. That’s all.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

“The next one we know about, aside from Nagini is in the Lestrange vault.” He froze, fear slipping in behind silver eyes. “I need your help with that one too.”

The color drained from his already pale skin. “The moment I help you into that vault I sign my death warrant.”

“It can wait, but it must be done before the end.” The boys’ certainty of the cup’s location made it acceptable to delay, but the final steps would never be possible without its destruction.

Draco let out a frustrated growl that reverberated through the cluttered room in cacophonous echoes. He turned back to her, color returning to his cheeks. “I’ll think of something.”

She nodded. “Good. Harry and Ron haven’t found the identity of the last Horcrux yet either.”

For a moment he appeared puzzled, but then he shook his head, more platinum strands falling from the strap. “I don’t suppose they have. Do you have any ideas?”

His stare was penetrating this time, as if he was delving inside her mind. And perhaps he was. She’d never forbade him from looking; all her cards were on the table now, nothing left to hide from him. “I don’t know. The last one’s supposed to be something of Gryffindor but I can’t imagine Tom Riddle putting his soul into anything from Dumbledore’s house.”

“Yes, I rather imagine that wouldn’t be to his taste.” Draco looked back at the cabinet then, suddenly distant once more. “You should go before Snape figures out I let you in here. He’s not the most pleased about how often I think of you.”

“You’re not supposed to be thinking about me at all.”

“Exactly.”


	8. Seven

**~*~ Seven ~*~**

 

The rest of spring was spent in the solitude of the Black library, Horcruxes and Hallows blurring her vision until the words dripped down the pages and she conceded defeat. Despite taking quite the continental tour through Albanian forests and Germanic backwoods, Harry and Ron were no closer to finding the seventh Horcrux. Hermione had begun to suspect that Dumbledore’s bequeathments were more than just kind gifts from a dying man. Ron’s deluminator she could understand, but Harry’s snitch and the book with the tale of the Perverell brothers and the Deathly Hallows had her stumped.

She knew that Voldemort had been looking for the wand, but he’d made no move to search for any other part of the Hallows according to Draco. So Voldemort wasn’t looking to unite the Hallows, but had Dumbledore sought such an end? What exactly did the snitch given to Harry contain? She’d passed the gifts to their respective owners the last time the boys had stopped by headquarters. She almost regretted letting Harry have the snitch, even if it had been completely unreactive to her ministrations. Some part of her mind kept telling her she was missing the bigger picture, but no matter how many books she read, the answers never materialized.

Hermione had contemplated stabbing the diadem with a basilisk fang just to have a conversation with Tom Riddle, but that seemed too extreme even for her. Yes, he probably had the answers she was looking for, or at least fragments of them, but it wasn’t like he was going to tell her. Plus Draco had warned her to avoid destroying the Horcruxes until the last possible moment. So she stewed and read and went to the Muggle cinema when the confines of the Black house became too overwhelming to bear. She’d been five times in the last week alone.

The previews were just starting as the pendant at her neck warmed for the first time in months. _I’m ready_. She did her best to control her breathing as a second message appeared on the heels of the first. _Leaky Cauldron, 1 PM._ She was attending an 11 AM showing close enough to the entrance to Diagon Alley that she could stay, which was a relief since she had no idea how she’d deal with the tension vibrating through her every limb without a distraction. Although _Deep Impact_ hadn’t been the wisest of choices. The mounting tension of the impending asteroid impact did nothing but fuel her own nervous energy. She was sure the movie heroes would figure it out in the end, but she lacked such certainty. She had no idea if she would even survive the trip to Gringotts, let alone the whole bloody war.

She exploded out of her seat as the credits began to roll, ducking around disgruntled patrons until she was in the fresh London air. The day was mild, belying the summer heat soon to come. Hermione half walk-half jogged as she cut a beeline for the entrance to the Wizarding world. She paused only a second beside the brick wall to cast the disillusionment charm, hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone on the way through. Luckily the establishment was only moderately populated and she was able to navigate toward Draco’s platinum hair with no impediment.

His lips twitched as he took in her disheveled state, but he made no other indication that he knew she was there. She followed in his wake as he tossed a few knuts on the bar counter and then ascended the stairs at the back of the tavern. He stopped beside the door to a room overlooking the Muggle street below, twisting a worn brass key in the lock. He closed the door firmly behind them, casting both a silencing charm and locking spell before turning to face her.

The smile that had threatened in the pub below spilled over his lips, leaving her momentarily dazed. In the year and a half she’d truly known him she’d seen that smile only a handful of times.

“Happy looks good on you.”

The statement obliterated the smile, but she didn’t regret making the observation. Seeing him like that reminded her where the hot coals of her anger had been fashioned. She’d wanted to save the boy behind the icy silver eyes, to spare him a wretched future, this future. The fury spiked as she realized that in that, at least, she had utterly failed. Draco was a Death Eater and there was nothing either of them could do to erase that now.

He waited patiently for her focus to return to him, only speaking when her fingers unclenched and her jaw relaxed. “It’s a terrible idea, but it’s the best we’ve got given the circumstances. There is no way this isn’t going to make him suspicious, but I don’t think he’ll suspect me, at least not at first. The minute we do this, Granger, the clock starts. Do you have a way of alerting Potter?”

Hermione nodded. Harry and Ron were currently at a safe house not far from where she’d grown up in Heathgate, Hampstead. It was close enough she could reach them by Patronus if necessary. “Just spit it out, Draco.”

He ran a hand through his hair, loosening the tie and sending his hair cascading around his face. It suited him better this way than tied back like his father, the unruliness matching the storm within his eyes. “We’re going to turn you into Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Just the mention of Bellatrix had Hermione unconsciously rubbing the flesh of her right arm. His eyes traced the motion. She let go of her arm abruptly, realizing too late what she had done. Her voice was strong and clear when she finally spoke. “Polyjuice I suppose?”

“There are some perks to having a potions master as a mentor.” He set the vial on the desk beside them. “I have several strands of her hair I procured from the Manor. She’s careless there, can’t possibly imagine any of us would be working against her.”

“Do you know what to look for?” She’d heard a description from Harry and Ron, but had never actually seen the cup with her own eyes.

“Snape has familiarized me with the remaining forms of the Horcruxes, yes.” He removed a strand of hair from another vial in his robe pockets. “Best get changing, Granger. We have an appointment in half an hour at Gringotts and dear Aunt Bella is never late.”

Hermione snatched the vial off the desk and took the hair from him. The bathroom was cramped, but she would be damned if she’d let Draco watch her morph into his aunt. The transformation was instantaneous as before, but this time no tail or ears appeared. Unsurprisingly, Draco was more proficient than a thirteen year-old Hermione.

She was only slightly shorter than the other woman, so her clothes still fit even if they were clearly inappropriate for the trip to Gringotts. She turned back to the main room, refusing to glance in the mirror while she wore a monster’s face. Draco’s eyes widened as she returned, scanning her form quickly before looking away, dark emotion gathering behind his eyes.

“I put a pair of her clothes on the bed.” He spoke to her feet, as unwilling as Hermione to look upon the madwoman’s visage.

Hermione didn’t bother with propriety as she changed. This wasn’t her body and he wasn’t going to watch. The numerous layers of black were cumbersome, but they were pure Bellatrix Lestrange.

Hermione only needed to last the next two, maybe three hours. After that she could burn the rags and destroy the cloying scent that brought back the tang of blood and the taste of terror. She could weather this too if it meant incinerating another fragment of Tom Riddle’s vile soul.

Draco didn’t say another word until they were standing outside Gringotts, other wizards and witches ducking into doorways and shops at the mere sight of them. She supposed Bellatrix was well known as one of Voldemort’s prized disciples, but they fled from Draco in equal measure. What had he done, been forced to do, by this ruined plan of hers? He’d claimed he could never repay the debt, but Hermione wondered if it wasn’t she that owed him now. The atrocities he’d committed in Voldemort’s name were in the pursuit of Hermione’s cause. He’d told her at Spinner’s End that they would destroy the bastard, but that she wouldn’t like what he’d become along the way. What she’d made him become.

“The key.” The cool metal jolted her back to reality, Draco’s eyes flashing with warning as she closed her hand around it. Bellatrix Lestrange was not the sort prone to sentimental ruminations on a street corner.

Hermione kept her back stiff as they approached the counter, letting the mania she held close, so utterly not Hermione Granger, rip free. All in the name of the destruction of Riddle. Her lip curled in disgust and brutal satisfaction. Perhaps this would work after all.

“I’m here to access my vault.” She sneered down her nose at the Goblin, her voice lilting just right.

She could feel Draco stiffen beside her, taking an unconscious step back, forgetting for a moment that she was Hermione. She twisted her lips into a satisfied smirk, which only made him look more rattled.

“Of course, My Lady,” the Goblin replied, extending his hand for the key. She dropped it into his grasp, hardly giving him a second glance. The small creature motioned for them to follow him and soon they were spiraling through the underbelly of the vaults, the small cart turning in nauseating circles. But Hermione imagined Bellatrix would hardly notice, so she did her best to look unimpressed instead of seasick. The cart jolted to a halt outside a single vault door. Draco did her the courtesy of extricating himself first, allowing her to take his hand as she dismounted. The firm grip of his warm fingers against her was the only thing that kept her upright, the nausea still coiling within. The Goblin didn’t seem to notice as he fitted the key into the lock and opened the door. Hermione swept through the open door, spinning on Bellatrix’s absurd heels to face the banker.

“I have some private business to attend to. Wait outside.”

Draco slammed the door shut in the Goblin’s face. “Don’t touch anything.”

Hermione waited until he stood directly by her side to murmur, “Why?”

“All the pureblood families have a special protection spell added to their possessions. If someone without Lestrange or Black blood touches anything in here, all the objects will replicate infinitely, trapping the would be robber at the bottom of the mess.”

She understood very clearly why he’d needed to come with her and why he was certain his involvement would ultimately be discovered. “It could have been your cousin Tonks or aunt Andromeda.”

His eyes slanted sideways at her, disbelief apparent. “They don’t even know what Potter’s doing and that’s dreadfully obvious.”

“Fine. We wait until the last possible moment to destroy it then. Give you as much time as we can.” She hated that plan, hated anything that put Draco more squarely in the middle of the fight than he already was. But when the dominos started to fall, there was no question Draco Malfoy would be among them, no more able to escape the cascade than Hermione or Harry.

Draco walked out, casually turning over various pieces of the Lestrange inheritance until he stopped abruptly. When he turned back to her, he held an oversize chalice in his hand, a Holy Grail of the Wizarding World. There was no mistaking the badger emerging from the swirling layers of gold. He’d worn gloves, heeding her warning of direct contact with any of the Horcruxes. Hermione held open the beaded bag she’d stowed beneath Bellatrix’s absurd layers. He unceremoniously dumped the cup inside, brushing his gloves on his pants, as if cleaning off the foul residue of Riddle’s soul.

They exited the vault in short order, the ride back to the Gringotts lobby not half as nauseating as the first. The key was returned to her with a gruff smile and then she and Draco were scattering the denizens of Diagon Alley as they sauntered through the streets, satisfaction fueling the terror of her visage.

No one dared look at them as they alighted the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione let out a peal of maniacal laughter, not caring at all that she sounded eerily like the madwoman whose face she wore, flopping down on the bed inside their cramped room.

Draco hovered by the door, an unfamiliar wariness seeping through his silver eyes, a misty veneer forming between them. Hermione scowled, pushing up from her haphazard position to look at him properly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

He knew exactly what she was talking about. “Suddenly shutting down. Not letting me see you.”

“Get out of her clothes.” It was neither an order nor a request, but rather a plea.

Irrational hurt flooded through her. So he wasn’t even going to talk to her? Fine. She grabbed her discarded clothes from the floor beside the bed, slamming the bathroom door behind her with a satisfying crack. It was only when she caught sight of her reflection that his reaction made sense. She looked like Bellatrix, from the curve of her lip to the demonic gleam of her eyes.

As quickly as the elation had come, it was gone. Hermione tore off the black dress, seams splitting and fabric ripping as she clawed her way out. The boots were flung across the small room, leaving divots in the wall behind her. She looked back at the mirror, barely able to quell the urge to rip fingernails down the length of her face. She stared unyielding into the mirror until finally the black tresses melted away and only Hermione remained. She looked away suddenly, all too aware that Bellatrix’s crazed eyes still reflected back at her.

Draco was sitting in the only available chair when she finally opened the door, disquiet still rippling through her. He tossed the gold key carelessly between his hands, focus far beyond the window beside him.

“Did you really steal that?”

He froze, turning slowly to face her, posture loosening as he took in her appearance. “From my mother. Bella gave her a duplicate, not common but not unheard of amongst pureblood families, before she got locked up the first time. I’m not entirely sure she even knows mother still has it.”

That was a relief at least. “And the clothes?”

“Transfigured. Although I suppose mother won’t be getting her least favorite nightgown back by the looks of it.” Hermione followed his gaze back to the bathroom. There were only ribbons of black littering the floor.

“No, I suppose not.” She moved closer to him, trying to read the emotion behind his shuttered gaze. Despite her transformation, there was still a wall between them, a mist she’d stopped expecting after the night in his room. Hadn’t they moved beyond this absurd notion of denying themselves the only thing they truly wanted? Or had that only been her all along, seeing what she wanted to, forgetting what she didn’t?

“We both have somewhere to be.” She didn’t have the energy to contradict him, to tell him there was nowhere else she wanted to be than here, next to him, complete at last. He didn’t look at her as he stood, barely even turned in her direction as he crossed to the door. “I’ll let you know. Expect it to be soon.”

They had tipped the first domino, beginning the countdown to devastation or salvation, either end as likely as the other. Her veins surged with adrenaline as the door shut behind him, hurt drowned out by ferocious expectation. Her eyes hardened, wild satisfaction dancing within as she smiled. It was time for Tom Riddle to say goodbye, once and for all.


	9. Eight

**~*~ Eight ~*~**

 

The occupants of 12 Grimmauld Place were on edge, every creak of a door or thump of a boot making them jump. They could sense what was coming. Even if they didn’t know about the Horcruxes stashed at the bottom of Hermione’s trunk, they knew the end was nigh. Harry and Ron hadn’t moved houses; a small contingent staked out Hogwarts and the Ministry day and night. The breaking point had come and soon they would all stand between obliteration and victory.

Where fear had fueled her determination as she stood upon the Astronomy Tower stairs so long ago, now the simmering rage propelled her. She longed for the moment when she would slam the fangs through Tom Riddle’s soul, when she would finally stand above his corpse, victory in the air. For she believed now, fervently and absolutely, that this war was won. Voldemort was nothing without his Horcruxes, only pale mutilated flesh clinging to life, a creature to be pitied and put out of its misery.

The burn of her pendant against her chest on the third restless night didn’t surprise Hermione. Draco had told her it would be soon and she had never doubted. Before she stole away into the night with the soul pieces and their means of destruction, she sent a Patronus to Harry. They would meet the following evening, the eve of the battle. Once she and Draco completed this night’s task there would be no time for delay or hesitation. Voldemort would know they were coming and he would rise to meet them, giving them the opportunity they needed to rend him to ash forever.

The Huntress’ statue glowed in the pale moonlight as Hermione approached, the arrow a dark silhouette against the heavens. The air was warm, the hot breath of summer clinging to her skin. The park was closed, but it was easy to hop the fence, beaded bag slung across her chest like a military sash. Sweat stained her black tank top and jean shorts, but Hermione hardly cared. Now was the moment she had dreamed of ever since Voldemort stole Draco away from her, since she realized Harry’s fight was her own for wholly independent reasons.

Draco was impossible to miss, his platinum hair a beacon against the dark shadows of the trees. It was down tonight, the ends just brushing his dark shirt. He wore a Muggle t-shirt and jeans, the most casual she’d ever seen him, so far away from his usual dark jumpers and Wizarding robes. Indeed, he looked nothing like a wizard, but the hard set of his angled jaw and the gleam of his eye assured he was dangerous in any world.

She waited, heart pounding in anticipation of things she could not begin to name. He stopped mere inches from her, the heat of his skin calling to her despite the muggy night air. They didn’t exchange words as he held out a hand. Her skin crackled with electricity as she placed her clammy fingers against his. Luminous eyes caught her very soul as they spun out of existence, the pull of apparation swallowing her.

When they alighted, the heavy air was sweeter, the roar of the ocean drowning out all other sound. Hermione glanced down, eyes tracing dark waves crashing against the cliffs below. They stood there, caught in a moment that seemed to stretch to eternity, their hands clasped, her heart pounding out of her chest. After all too short a time he turned, a gentle tug on her arm turning her toward a small stone cottage atop the cliff.

“I used to come here with my mother when I was little. Before Hogwarts. Whenever father was off on business, we’d escape the manor to watch the sun set beyond the cliffs.” Draco shook his head, his silver eyes clearing. “I don’t think he knew where we were. I don’t think he even knows this place exists.”

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, the words barely audible above the roar of the ocean.

He nodded silently before pulling her hand again, leading them to the cottage. The door swung open with no resistance, revealing a cozy interior coated with dust. Draco ran a finger across the small dining table. “I guess that confirms my theory.”

Hermione waved her wand, a wordless _scourgify_ clearing all traces of disuse. “Better?”

A smile tugged at his lips as he surveyed the room again. “Certainly better for the breathing.”

She sighed, setting the beaded bag on the empty table. “Let’s get this bloody done with.”

“Is Riddle that bad?” He grimaced as she put the dripping fangs on the table.

“Was Moaning Myrtle?” she replied mildly, carefully removing the wrapped Horcruxes.

“She was bloody awful, but I don’t think you can compare the two.” He ran a finger down the spine of a fang. “But I was thinking of the chamber. If that was Riddle’s idea of paradise, I can’t imagine he’s a bloody fun bloke, even if he isn’t...”

Actually Voldemort, she finished in her head. Hermione snorted. “Oh, he’s loads of fun if you like having a teenage psychopath judge you and assure you he will be your destruction.”

Icy stillness began to slip over his features and Hermione could hardly blame him. It was probably best to face Riddle with armor on. She had absolutely no idea how the apparition had known about her, known her hope and fears, the very marrow of her soul. The only thing she knew for certain was that there was no information passed from the fragments in the Horcruxes to the corporeal monster residing at Malfoy Manor. She, Draco and Harry would have been worm food long ago if that were the case.

Her skin crawled as she unwrapped the diadem, letting the bejeweled bird thud onto the wooden table. She grabbed a fang, venom dripping from the jagged tip. Draco shifted beside her, his features altering until only a Death Eater remained, silver eyes a frozen mirror. She put every fear and doubt and ragged hope behind the swing of her arm. Her aim was true; the diadem hissed, black rot seeping out of it, running in lurid rivers across the table. Hermione kept hold of the fang, poised, no visible sign of the frantic tattoo of her heart.

Riddle did not disappoint. His black locks waved in an invisible breeze as he materialized across from her, just beyond the table. His mouth twisted into a smile, almost kind, as he studied her. “You’ve been busy, Hermione Granger.”

Her jaw clenched, but her voice was even as she replied, “Can’t say the same for you, Tom.”

He laughed, the sound broken glass. Draco shifted beside her and suddenly Riddle was materializing in the air between them. “And Draco Malfoy. How I have longed to look inside your head.” His dangerous eyes flashed toward Hermione for a split second before spearing through Draco once more. “You know she’s in love with you, don’t you? Of course you do. It’s pathetic really… she’ll die for you, but what will you ever do for her?”

She could hear Draco’s teeth grinding, but he made no reply. Hermione spoke again, attempting to redirect the specter’s focus. “It’s almost time, Tom. You’ll be nothing but dust in the wind, not even a grave to mark your corpse.”

Riddle paid her no mind, his eyes fixated on Draco as he shifted closer, black hair nearly melting into Platinum. Draco didn’t so much as flinch. “Does she know? No, of course you haven’t told her. What would she say if she knew you were going to—“

Another basilisk fang bisected the apparition, Tom’s features morphing into surprise as light fractured through him, blinding and instant. When Hermione could see again, there remained only the tattered pieces of the diadem, a Horcrux no more.

Smoldering fury clouded silver eyes as Draco slammed the cup onto the table and speared it with another fang before Hermione could react. A final fang met the newly formed apparition’s chest before Riddle could fully materialize. Draco had used three fangs in less that a minute, but they only needed one to remain. The true Sword of Gryffindor, found by Harry and Ron while searching Albania, would take care of Nagini.

Hermione had no idea what to say. It was apparent Riddle had been on the brink of saying something; something Draco had been adamant she not hear. A tightness rose in her chest, chasing away the oxygen and replacing it with suffocating apprehension. She’d thought they were on an even playing field, that the time for secrets was in the past; she was wrong. Behind those mercurial eyes lurked some agenda still foreign to her, beyond her trust and understanding.

“Don’t ask. I can’t tell you.” His hand still grasped the fang, elegant fingers spasming against the rugged bone.

“You can’t or you won’t?” There was a waver in her voice, the crack in her confidence breaking to the surface.

“I Can’t.” Draco spun abruptly toward her, fang clattering to the tile below. “There are things beyond our control, things that are necessary for destroying him. Things that absolutely must go to plan.”

Hermione lunged toward him, her breath licking at his face as she hissed, “This is my plan! All of it. I will not stand for secrets.”

“I just can’t, Hermione.” His voice was soft now, weary and broken as his eyes. “All I can do is promise you that I will do what is necessary to achieve his destruction. I will never waver in that.”

The fight drained out of her as she stared into tumultuous pools. “Why can’t I know?”

His hand cupped her face, the heat of him pouring into her soul. “There are some things it’s best not to know. Please don’t ask.”

She wanted to trust him, to make of the feeling of the world sinking out from under her disappear, but she couldn’t. Her faith could only stretch so far and it was already at its limit. He sighed against her, his fingers trailing a path down her neck, across the skin damp with sweat and fear.

“More than a year ago you nearly died so I would realize the truth of the path I walked. I will never forget the gift you gave me that night. The absolute love you gave, requiring none in return.” His eyes were clear now, begging her for something just out of reach. “I told you that night that I didn’t love you and that was true. I don’t think I truly understood what love could be until you bled out on that floor and my whole world broke with you. But this year has changed us all. I’m no longer a sacred boy, Hermione, sacrificing others to save himself.”

He paused, his hand trembling against her shoulder. She could barely breathe as she stared up at him. He couldn’t possibly be about to say what she thought. She’d heard it in a million dreams, but never once fooled herself that reality would follow suit.

“It’s my turn to sacrifice, Hermione. To sacrifice because…” he swallowed heavily, his voice dropping to a rough murmur, “… because you’re the only thing that’s gotten me though this year. I turned everything off, tried not to feel at all, but no matter what he made me do, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. I couldn’t help loving you.”

She was hot and cold at once, adrenaline and endorphins combining in a heady spiral of sensation. His silver eyes looked down at her, stripped utterly naked, vulnerable beyond mere humanity.

“When?” When had it all changed? When had the attraction morphed into something impossibly more powerful? When had he become the man that stood before her, raw in ways she’d never hoped?

Draco shrugged, his hand sliding down, tangling in her tank top as it covered her heart. “It wasn’t any one moment; it was all of them. You never gave up on me, even when I begged you. I needed you to forget me, let me go, but you wouldn’t.”

Her hand covered his, the beat of her heart pulsating though his fingers. “Draco…” His free hand covered her lips, forestalling further words. Her mouth tingled where his skin brushed, her senses careening into overdrive.

His fingers dropped away as she fell silent. “I need you to know, no matter what happens in the coming days, it is all for you. Please remember that, if nothing else.”

Hermione wondered how she could forget any of it. “Stay with me.”

Tonight, tomorrow, forever. She hardly knew, only that she needed him against her, his skin drawing promises against her heated flesh. His eyes were hooded, hungry in a new, more powerful, way. They met in the middle, his lips devouring hers, drawing moans of surrender from deep within her soul. Where he had once shattered her soul, now he mended it, pulled her back from the abyss with every caress against her skin, every heated breath entwined with hers.

The glide of his flesh against her own, the swell of pleasure of him buried deep within was nothing new, but it was transformed now. A refraction of the sensations she had always craved until it was not only freedom of body, but spirit, her soul basking in unparalleled ecstasy.

She traced the angles of him, the lines of his toned muscles until she knew every millimeter of him, until she could never forget the man above her, below her, encompassing her in every way that mattered. She sighed his name into the humid night air, a prayer answered. His eyes were unfettered, quicksilver pools of desire and so much more. She would gladly drown within them for eternity.

They lost time, twining together, a kaleidoscope of hands and mouths, hunger and desire. There were no thoughts of tomorrow, no hopes or dreams, only peace, a total surrender of souls beyond the heights of mortal pleasure. He became hers as she had always been his, completely and utterly, woven within every stand of her being.

Hermione’s breath was a pant against the cascade of waves when they finally collapsed against each other. His skin shone alabaster in the moonlight, hair glinting in a mad halo against the pillows of the bed they’d stumbled onto at some point she couldn’t recall. Their hands twined together as they lay shoulder to shoulder, a new world stretching out before them. But Hermione didn’t think of the future, didn’t imagine what she might lose. Instead she watched him, his nebulous eyes clinging to hers until exhaustion subsumed her, her dreams sweet as nectar.

 

~*~

 

The morning after was a subdued affair, the coming battle impossible to deny in the light of day. They’d lain together as a long as they could, until the wretched world could be ignored no longer. Every breath she took she felt the caress of his flesh against hers, the cascade of impossible words he’d breathed reverberating through her soul. _I couldn’t help loving you._ Even now, it didn’t seem possible, the memory just another figment of her imagination. But here he stood, next to her, as they gazed down at the merciless waves pounding the white cliffs below, the burn of the sun hot against her skin.

“I have to go,” Draco murmured, rough as the choppy sea.

How she longed for a time when there would be no more departures, no more splintering of her heart as he disappeared into dangers untold. Her hand clenched around the beaded bag, the Horcruxes husks within no longer an impediment to their cause. Within two cycles of sun and moon, she would know the taste of victory on her tongue. And then there would be no more goodbyes.

Hermione nodded to him, her eyes still caught in the crash of the waves below. “I know. I’ll see you tonight.”

Draco’s warm lips branded her cheek for an infinite moment and then the swirl of apparation swallowed them. His silver eyes flashed before her as they stood together in the Park, hidden by the resplendent foliage of ancient trees, and then he was truly gone, the laughter of children in the field beyond her only companion.

Hermione walked slowly, aimlessly through the winding paths of Hyde Park. The sky was a deep blue, the kind that seemed to hold infinite possibilities, not a single cloud floating above. The morning heat was already stifling, sweat gathering on her skin in heavy beads. She took a deep breath, feeling the air fill her lungs, savoring the sweet aroma of the flowers lining her path. Being alive in this moment felt impossibly good, the joy erupting through her, leaving no room for doubt. She coveted the feeling as she made her way to 12 Grimmauld Place, smile tugging gently at her lips.


	10. Nine

**~*~ Nine ~*~**

 

The library at Spinner’s End was exactly as she remembered it. The sofa still ugly as ever, the books overflowing the tables. It had been next to that coffee table that she’d begun to truly believe that they could win, with the gems of Slytherin’s Locket sparkling in the moonlight. Now they were gathered together, taking that final step into the abyss of victory.

Harry perched on the edge of the sofa, his black hair unruly as ever, green eyes flashing. Ron stood further back, away from the parchments spread across the table, maintaining his distance, wary blue eyes tracking Draco’s every move. Hermione couldn’t fault him. He’d seen less of Draco than Harry, had only Hermione’s word and Moody’s acceptance to stack his faith upon.

“We need someone to go after Nagini,” Draco continued, pacing the opposite side of the room. Harry’s eyes sparked, but the blond shook his head. “Not you, Potter. You’re the only one who can sense the Horcruxes. If we’re going to find the final one that has to be your task.”

Harry sighed, a hand tangling in unruly black. “Fine. But it can’t be you or Hermione either. It’s not like we can have a Death Eater kill his snake and, no offense Hermione, but I don’t really see you as a snake slayer.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but chose not to comment. She had no desire to be tied down with snake assassination, but for entirely different reasons. “What about Ron?”

“Me?” Ron stared at her, mouth agape.

“Why not you?” she countered. “You found the Sword of Gryffindor; it should be your kill.”

His cheeks turned a shade akin to his hair. “But I can’t…”

“Do anything useful?” Draco snapped, annoyance coating every word.

Ron looked properly affronted by the question. His blue eyes slid to Harry, but his friend only shrugged. “I don’t see why you couldn’t, mate.”

“Kill the bloody snake?” Ron’s voice had taken on a particularly whiny tone, one that did him no favors with the room’s current occupants.

“We’re going to bloody war tomorrow, Ronald,” Hermione groused. “What were you planning on doing? Hiding in a cupboard until it was all over?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why can’t you just kill the bloody snake?” It was Harry that spoke now, green eyes charged. “You’ve always wanted to be a bloody hero and now’s your chance.”

Ron stared at each of them in turn, finding no quarter. “Fine.”

Draco looked ready to incinerate the lot of them. “Thank you, Weaselby.”

Neither Hermione nor Harry bothered to correct him. Harry sighed, shifting through the parchment on the table for the hundredth time. “This is all Snape has on the Horcruxes?”

“To my knowledge,” Draco replied, sinking into a chair. “All I know is that he’s sure the final Horcrux is at Hogwarts, perhaps hidden somewhere besides the room of hidden things.”

Harry’s expression darkened at the mention of the Room of Requirement. “But we already found the diadem at Hogwarts.”

“True,” Hermione interjected, “but we don’t know if Voldemort himself actually hid it there, or if it ended up there sometime after he created it. There might be another one.”

“So what? I just wander the halls waiting for my scar to burst into searing pain?” It sounded ridiculous when Harry said it, but it truly was the best they’d been able to concoct.

Draco shifted, indistinct emotion momentarily warping his refined features. “That’s the plan. I don’t think it’s a grand one, Potter, but it’ll have to do.”

“Are we really staking the entire war on this Horcrux being at Hogwarts?” There was a dark humor lingering beneath Harry’s words, the incredulity they all felt mixed with the absurdity of their solution

“If you have a bucket list of things to do before you die, I’d suggested diving in now. We still have at least twenty hours left before we meet our end.” Draco’s somber stare belied the wry humor of his words.

All of them shifted uncomfortably. Harry drew the snitch out of his pocket, the gold glinting in the firelight. “I suppose I’ll never figure out what he meant by this. It opens at the end? What does that even mean? End of what? The war?”

Draco’s silver stare was riveted on the snitch. “You know they have sense memory right, Potter?”

Harry blinked at him. “What?”

“Snitches. They remember touch.”

Hermione couldn’t see where Draco could possibly be going with his comments, but Harry seemed to understand as he sat back on the couch, brilliant green eyes keener than before.

“As much as I’d love to have a sleepover with you losers, I have some murder and torture to get back to.” The statement was spoken with flat affect and Hermione couldn’t discern if he was serious or not, but she knew better than to ask. While Draco’s appearance had grown healthier in the past few months, the weight of his position still left shadows beneath his eyes and pain gnawing behind silver, visible only in moments when the veneer melted away.

Harry stood, pulling Ron along. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Draco nodded back, silver holding green until Harry and Ron disappeared beyond the library door. Hermione moved until she was standing beside Draco’s chair. “What did—“

He was on his feet in an instant, warm lips chasing away the words. Hermione collapsed against him, her hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. Her mind was a swarm of anticipation, elation and fear tangled together in impenetrable knots. The night before had been an escape, a chance to acknowledge what lay between them. Tonight gave no such accommodation. No matter how he made her senses soar, the anchor of reality dragged her back.

Her hands fisted in his shirt as she backed away, moving just until his lips no longer caressed her own. The heat of him burned into her, a siren call in the desolate night. But the coil of dread in her stomach would not be ignored.

“It’s going to be alright.” His voice was soft, begging her to agree.

“Can you truly promise that?”

Silver eyes fractured, answer enough. He tore a hand through his hair, tie falling to the floor. She buried her hands in those platinum locks as she pulled him to her, desperation fueling every touch. His breath was thick against her neck, the stutter of his pulse against his throat vibrating her skin. There were no guarantees. Hermione knew better than to trust the confidence that surged, fueled by the simmering coals of her anger. She knew they could arise victorious, but there were an infinite number of snags that could tear it all apart.

How had she let him go, all those other times, knowing the fate to which he walked? She could not drown in him, but neither could she let him walk away into the dark night, let him return to a house of madmen and torture. Their work was finally nearing completion, but they were still so far from their destination, left on a precarious ledge with only the chasm of loss stretching out before them.

She shivered and he pulled her closer, guiding her to the sofa. She sat, memories of another time suffusing her. He’d been a stranger then, a stranger she loved with all the fibers of her being, but a stranger still. And she’d been a child; a girl wanting only to save him, too innocent to understand that none would be spared.

What were they now? A treasonous Death Eater and a woman with too many burdens to bear? The raw burn of her anger was the only string holding her together, not even the realization of his love enough. He’d told Hermione she wouldn’t like what he became on the other side, but perhaps he’d been mistaken. It was she who had changed, morphing from an anxious girl to a furious woman, rage her closest companion. She scared herself more often than not, her addiction to the destruction of Riddle’s soul spiraling disquiet through her in the silent breaths between all things.

Draco tightened his grip and she let her head drop to rest against his shoulder. They sat together, a torch against the night until dawn unfurled along the horizon and there was no more time for contemplation, only action.


	11. Ten

**~*~ Ten ~*~**

 

Hermione met Harry and Ron at King’s Cross the next afternoon. The day was bright, blue once again stretching from horizon to horizon. She’d worn jeans and an old t-shirt, the letters faded from love and time. Her bag was slung across her chest, its only important contents the final basilisk fang.

They took a Muggle train up into the vale containing Hogsmeade, as she had when meeting Draco to recover the diadem. Voldemort already knew they were coming; Snape had reported the fortification of the school, but at least Voldemort wouldn’t be able to sense their approach. It was odd to see familiar fields fly by, knowing that it was perhaps the last time she would see the hills and dales so familiar after years at Hogwarts. She didn’t plan to die today, but if victory required a greater sacrifice than she’d bargained, she would not flinch, would do what she must.

Harry and Ron were equally quiet, Harry’s invisibility cloak clutched in his hand as green eyes surveyed the same pastoral scenes. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing, mortality rising up within. Ron looked as if more slugs were threatening to crawl up his throat. When his blue eyes caught Hermione’s, he didn’t bother to hide the naked terror behind them. He’d always been the least suited to their heroics, too comfortable in his life, unable to feel the anger that Harry and Hermione shared. While the last year had hardened him, he was not yet flint. She prayed he would find the strength when the time came.

The hike through the valley was harder this time, each step feeling the gravity of their destination. No longer would she be creeping through shadows, playing clever tricks with their enemies. There would be no cloak of disguise as she faced the Death Eaters, nothing but her own ability to shield her from harm. Beyond her duels with Draco, she’d never faced a foe head on, never found her breaking point at the end of a wand. Hermione believed she could handle it, but her mettle in battle was unproved. But she had stood before Draco and forced him to bring her to her knees, she’d looked into Bellatrix Lestrange’s eyes and seen only her own, even after the torture wrought upon her. She may not have been battle hardened, but she was far from unprepared.

They paused on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, Harry and Ron donning the invisibility cloak while Hermione cast her disillusionment charm. They crept through the village, twilight just descending as they made their way into the Hog’s Head. Draco had provided the very interesting information that the portrait of a young woman at the end of the hall leading to the guest accommodations was the entrance to a passage leading to none other than the Room of Requirement. It seemed odd they’d never determined that during the use of the room 5th year, but no one had been trying to escape the school then.

Hermione materialized before the portrait, Harry and Ron poking their heads out from the cloak. “I would like passage into the Room of Requirement.”

The woman shifted, her keen eyes surveying each of their faces in turn. “On whose authority?”

“Draco Malfoy sent us.”

She startled at Hermione’s words, a smile falling across her pale lips. “You should have said so in the first place.”

The portrait swung inwards, revealing a stone stairway descending into inky darkness. Harry and Ron went first, cloak hanging from Harry’s arm as he whispered, “ _Lumos_.”

Hermione nodded to the statue before pulling the portal shut behind her. There was the smell of rotting organics and the incessant trickle of water running down the mossy walls. For a while it was frigid, their breath frosting the air, but the deeper they went the warmer it became, as if the ground were holding them in a warm embrace. Water still seeped through the stones, weaving through the fractured masonry, but she could no longer see her breath in the pale light of Harry’s wand. After what seemed an eternity, but was likely only a handful of minutes, they began to climb, but the air remained warm, the smell of rot fading with every step.

When they came to the door at the other end, a rickety wooden thing that hardly seemed able to stay on its hinges, Harry and Ron slipped back under the cloak, plunging the passage into total darkness. Hermione felt along the seam of the door until her fingers brushed the cool metal of the knob. She turned it carefully, as silently as possible. The hinges whined as she eased the door open, blinding light pouring into the passage. She stepped back, running into Harry and Ron in her haste.

“Hullo?”

It took her eyes several moments to adjust to the light and several more for her to understand it was Neville Longbottom peering out at them. She dropped the disillusionment spell, making Neville step back this time.

“Hermione?” He didn’t sound especially pleased to see her and she was reminded that while Harry and Ron had come to understand, the other members of her house still considered her persona non grata after her role in Draco’s Vanishing Cabinet plan, even if he’d spent the past year smuggling those he could to safety through this very room. What her fellow students didn’t know could hardly be held against them, as caustic as their glares might be.

The cloak dropped from Harry and Ron, turning Neville’s disgusted stare into an elated smile. Harry sent an apologetic grimace in her direction as he moved into the room beyond. “Hermione’s with us, Neville.”

The taller boy looked like he would very much like to argue, but Ron chimed in before he could. “We’ll explain later, but I promise you Hermione’s with us.”

Hermione didn’t think she’d ever been as grateful for Ron Weasley as she was in that moment. “Thanks,” she murmured under her breath as they joined Harry and Neville. Ron shot her a smile, its edges tinged with a sadness that made her heart ache. She looked away, unable to grapple with the minefield that still lay between them.

Hermione surveyed the students within the room, surprised by the number and the variety of houses represented. There were even a few Slytherin ties, mostly first or seconds years, but it gave her hope to see even one of them here. Neville explained they’d gone into hiding to escape the brutal persecution of Snape and his Death Eater professors. Harry’s eyes alight with sudden violence at the mention of Snape, but he restrained himself from any further reaction.

Ginny scowled at Hermione from a couch, her honey eyes flashing with unadulterated disgust. It was odd to find herself where she had begun the year, the stares unrelenting and sure in their judgment. Hermione stared back unabashedly. The truth would come out soon enough, when spells started flying and petty attitudes melted away.

“Hermione!” She spun to find blonde hair exploding into her arms, Luna’s enthusiasm infectious.

Hermione grinned back at her friend, realizing how long it had seen since they’d seen each other. She hadn’t even received the basilisk fangs from Draco when they’d last found themselves in the same room. There had only been war, infinite safe houses and no communication beyond what she heard within the walls of 12 Grimmauld Place.

“You’re here!” She scanned Luna, taking in her thin frame. The last year had been kind to none of them. “I thought you were staying in another safe house, especially since you were rescued from the dungeons of Malfoy Manor.”

“I tried to stay with father, I really did, but when I heard from the Order that we were converging on the school, I knew I couldn’t miss this. We all need to stand for what we believe in, not hide away and let others fight for us.” Luna’s eyes were bright with determination, not as vibrant as they’d once been, but far from extinguished.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Hermione whispered, her hand squeezing Luna’s as she eased back from the embrace. “It’s nice to find a friendly face in this crowd.”

Luna eyed Harry and Ron. “They seem glad to have you here. And you did arrive with them… does that mean…?”

Hermione sighed. “Check back with me after the war is over. When Draco saved Harry’s life at the Manor and then helped Dobby rescue all of you, we called a truce.”

Luna’s keen eyes were back on Hermione’s, a knowing smile rising on her lips. “So you’ve seen him.”

Hermione couldn’t help the flush that spread up her neck. “Yes, a number of times over the year.”

“You’re not telling me something,” Luna chided, her eccentric intuition spot on as always.

Hermione swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. His words were a second mantra now, as real as the beat of her heart, but voicing them seemed unmanageable. They were impossible on the eve of this battle. So she just smiled at Luna and held his words closer still. “I’ll tell you after.”

“That seems to be your line tonight,” Luna bemoaned, a sad glint in her blue eyes.

“Because I believe we’ll have tomorrow.”

Luna smiled at her then, the full brilliance of her light unleashed. “That’s why I like you, Hermione Granger.”


	12. Eleven

**~*~ Eleven ~*~**

 

Voldemort’s slithering voice in their minds, pleading with them to turn Harry over and spare the school, was barely silent before the great hall erupted into motion. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs knotted about Harry, a shield against the insipid cries of Pansy Parkinson. Hermione and Luna stood shoulder to shoulder, Harry just behind them as they faced down the Slytherins.

Harry pushed through the crowd, Luna, Hermione and Ron trailing him as he approached the Slytherin girl. “You are more than welcome to leave, Parkinson. I certainly don’t want you fighting any war for me.”

Her lip rose in a sneer. “I’ll go find Malfoy then. I hear he’s doing well, in the inner circle within just a year.”

It took all her will not to curse Pansy on the spot. He might be a Death Eater in the inner circle, but there was no way he’d be helping Parkinson; of that she was certain. Her voice was deceptively even as she stepped in front of Harry, the movement bringing her a hair’s width from Parkinson. “Then go! Run off to your fathers and mothers. Wear a black hood and a silver mask for all I care. But get out of my sight. And if I see you again, this will have been your only warning.”

Even the Gryffindors seemed to slink back as she spoke, her hard voice echoing through the great hall. The majority of the Slytherins scampered away, a few exceptions moving to join ranks with the other houses.

Pansy’s dark eyes were fire as she brushed past Hermione. “You’re going to regret that, Granger.”

The laughter that spilled from her lips was cold. “I very much doubt that.”

Hermione reveled in the fear that flashed across Pansy’s face, if only for a moment. There would be no sparing her, not if she chose to stand with Voldemort. Harry stared at her, rattled, green eyes wide with disbelief. Hermione looked away, forcing the rage down until it merely simmered beneath her skin.

Ron stepped between them. “Blimey, Hermione. You can be really scary sometimes.”

Harry shook his head, determination the only emotion remaining when he focused on her again. “I need to find the final Horcrux before that hour is up.”

Hermione nodded. “Ron, you need to figure out where Nagini is. Maybe bring some others along so you’ll be ready to strike. Don’t hesitate.”

Ron paled, his grip on the Sword of Gryffindor tightening. “You Know Who is outside the gates and I can’t imagine the snake is far behind. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.” Hermione looked between the two of them, heart aching. “Don’t die, either of you.”

Their limbs tumbled about each other in a desperate hug and then Ron was heading for Neville and the other members of the DA while Harry disappeared beyond the great hall, cloak in hand. She felt suddenly bereft, horribly alone against the coming storm.

 

~*~

 

There was no word from Harry by the time Voldemort’s forces breached the wards. She hadn’t seen Ron either, but had noticed a group of former DA members departing some minutes before the wards cracked. She could help neither of them now. All she could do was believe, believe with every ounce of her courage that they would succeed. A different challenge spread before her as the Death Eaters swarmed the school grounds, the Dark Mark shimmering the air above.

Luna grabbed her hand and the two ran down the stairs, wands at the ready as the blood curdling screams of their enemy polluted the night air. Hermione had no time to doubt, to consider if the mask she faced might hide the man she loved. There was only time for spells, even those stolen from Draco’s infernal arsenal.  She held nothing back, letting the air rip with curses dark as eternal night. Luna stood behind her, an equal array of destruction spewing from her wand.

Death Eater after Death Eater fell to their wands, but the wave was endless, another mask popping up to fill the void even before the first had stumbled to the sodden grass. They were losing ground, each attack driving them back toward the castle despite the constant barrage of vicious spells pummeling the Death Eater ranks.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Lupin fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, unmasked as usual, a few meters away. Bellatrix’s chilling laughter sent shivers down her spine, but there was no opportunity to aid her former professor as she and Luna slowly succumbed to the oppressive number of attackers.

Their backs were to the castle wall now, both defending and attacking, barely a second between successive spells. It was a dance that could not last, its tempo too rapid. Luna faltered first, a _reducto_ sending masonry flying toward her. She countered, but her attacker had already launched another onslaught, a _diffindo_ slipping past her defenses. Luna cried out, the sound slicing through Hermione as if the spell had stuck her own flesh.

Luna went down suddenly, her legs giving out as blood coated the wet earth. Hermione didn’t have the time to see where Luna had been injured, not with two attackers focusing solely on her.

“ _Protego_!” Multiple spells rebounded off her shield; she didn’t wait for them to dissipate. “ _Impedimenta_! _Expulso!”_

One of the attackers froze, unable to step back as her _expulso_ blasted both, sending them flying across the grounds, indisposed for the moment. Another silver mask slid into place in front of her as she leaned down to survey Luna’s wounds. His curses rebounded off her shield charm as she tried to buy the precious seconds she needed to help Luna. Her friends’ blonde hair was stained red, almost black in the haunting light of the mark above. Luna’s blue eyes clung to Hermione’s as blood gurgled from her pale lips.

Hermione spun toward her attacker, rage ripping free. “ _Sectumsempra_!”

The Death Eater fell instantly. Hermione cast another shield as she dropped to her knees beside Luna, the full extent of her wound coming into focus. The slashing spell had cleaved her nearly in two, only blood mixed with organs where her abdomen had once been. Bile rose in Hermione’s throat, but she forced it down.

“ _Episky_ ” The simple healing charm did nothing at all. Hermione looked back to Luna’s ghostly pale face, her brilliant blue eyes dim now.

“Don’t…” The word was coated with blood, Luna barely able to move her lips. “Don’t worry... I… I’m going to… ride with the heliopaths.”

“Luna,” Hermione breathed, her hands cupping the girl’s face. “I can save you. I promise, just hold on a moment.”

“I… can’t.” Luna’s blood stained lips drew up, a poor imitation of a smile. “You have to… let me… go.”

Hermione watched in horror as her lids fluttered shut. A moment later Luna’s body lurched, a strangled gasp tearing from her bloody lips. Then there was only silence, the roar of the battle fading as Luna slumped against the ground, gone in the space of a breath.

For a moment Hermione could feel nothing at all. Then the rage exploded, its hot tendrils burning through her every pore, feeding the flame within. Hermione spun, curses streaming from her lips as she advanced on the Death Eater ranks. Silver masks fell like trees as she cleaved her way toward the source of it all. She could see him, hidden behind his troops like the coward he was, safely beyond the gates. As she prepared to set foot beyond the grounds the air shimmered, a tightness gripping her head.

Voldemort’s voice slithered through her mind once more. “You have fought valiantly, but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilt is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity…

“Harry Potter I now speak directly to you. On this night you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the forbidden forest and confront your fate. If you do not do this I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me.”

The gates slammed shut, the sound reverberating through her, chasing away the chill of the words. Hermione looked to the spot she’d seen Voldemort, but it was a barren field now, no sign of him or any of his followers. The sudden silence was oppressive and heavy, full of death.

The moon splayed across Luna’s still features, making her seem ethereal as Hermione sat beside her, hand cupping a still warm cheek. She’d known some of them would die, but she’d never thought it would be Luna. The girl was too bright a light, too full of optimism and joy to end like this, torn apart on a battlefield like any common soldier.

Students and Order members were scattered about the grounds, moving slowly, wails and moans the only sound in the empty battleground. Hermione’s eyes caught on Tonks, her hair a fathomless midnight, crouched above a body. As the older woman shifted, Lupin came into view. He was as still as Luna, blood staining his clothes in equal measure. Hermione stomach churned, the loss tightening around her, making it hard to breath.

She turned back to Luna, her hand still grasping cooling flesh. The grass was black beneath her knees, sodden with blood. Hermione brushed her hand across Luna’s pale lids, blue eyes closing for the final time. There were bodies floating in the air behind her, the able levitating the dead. She didn’t want to float Luna across the grounds as she’d once transported Draco. She couldn’t think about him, couldn’t bear to see his pale flesh against the grass instead of Luna’s ravaged form. So she cast a silent charm, reducing her friend’s weight until she could gather Luna in her arms.

Hermione followed the trail of the dead, the living walking slowly, silent tears shining in the rotten light of the Dark Mark. She didn’t cry; could hardly feel anything beyond the simmering rage, its tendrils making her as hard as steel. There would be a place for grief, but not here, not now.

The dead littered the floor of the great hall, some with blankets thrown over them, others simply placed where there was room. The air nauseated with the scent of iron blood and charred flesh. Her stomach turned, but she kept the bile down as she placed Luna on the hard stone next to a witch she didn’t recognize.

Her eyes lifted, finding despondent green staring back at her from across the room. Harry stood apart from the bloody chaos, leaning against the frame of the giant archway. Hermione pressed a kiss against Luna’s brow before she arose, working through the maze of bodies to stand beside him.

Green eyes blazed with infinite sorrow as Harry surveyed the scene. “Snape is dead.”

A seed of sorrow settled within her. “Did you—“

“No.” He shook his head quickly, black hair flying. “No. You were right about him and about Malfoy too.”

“Didn’t do him much good.” Her words were bitter.

Harry sighed. “I don’t think any of this has done any of us much good.” He paused eyes sliding to Hermione. “I have to go; I have to meet him.”

She wanted to tell him he was wrong; that they could hold out just a little while longer. But the scent of blood was too strong, the reality too harsh. “Did you find it? The seventh?”

Harry looked away again, his throat working. “I did.”

Hermione dug through the bag still slung across her torso. She extended the dripping fang to Harry. “You’ll need this.”

Green eyes burdened beyond his years, he closed her hand around the fang, pushing it back toward her. “It’s taken care of. You hold onto this.” Confusion flooded her, but Harry shook his head. “Trust me.”

So she did. She tried to believe that her best friend had found another way; that such a way even existed. But despite Harry’s assurance, the pressure against her chest was impossible to ignore. “You don’t have to—“

“Yes, I do.” Harry gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her knotted hair. “I can’t escape this, Hermione.”

She clung to him, unable to breathe, the pain of his decision too complete. Her voice was a sad whimper against his shoulder. “I’ll make sure Ron succeeds.”

“I know.” His breath stuttered against her. “I love you.”

Her fingernails dug into his shirt. “I love you too.”

A chaste kiss brushed across her cheek and then he was gone, her arms shaking against silent air. Hermione took a deep breath, letting the scent of death pull the rage up to smother the pain.

The pendant burned, drawing her attention. She’d kept all thoughts of Draco at bay, unable to contemplate his fate in the carnage, but now the worry, the desperation for his safety surged to the forefront. She turned the H over. _Follow Potter._

Her pulse leapt, her eyes scanning the crowd for Harry. A glimpse of unruly black hair had her sprinting for the castle doors. Harry passed beyond the injured and the dead, no one noticing the Boy Who Lived as he slipped beyond the castle, down the path to Hagrid’s hut and into the void of the forbidden forest. Hermione let the shiver of disillusionment wash over her as they entered the forest, ghostly trees towering against the dark sky. She kept a large distance between them, Harry almost disappearing into the heavy night at every turn.

He paused some minutes in, his head bowing. He was speaking, but his voice was too soft for her to make out the words. Hermione hung back, allowing him the space. It already felt as if she was intruding. Keeping Harry in her periphery, she studied the silent stars above. The sickening green of the Dark Mark was less visible here, the dark night swallowing all.

Hermione yearned for the days before she’d been stripped bare, the ugly truth of the world made clear, the days where she believed in wishing upon a star, in the good of humanity. She yearned so much her shoulders shook, the stars disappearing as her focus blurred. But she continued to stare into the heavens, searching for a salvation that had not come.

Some minutes later Harry moved again, his voice no longer whispering across the trees. Hermione crept forward, taking care to tread softly on the forest floor. They’d walked perhaps a hundred meters when a flash of platinum stopped her cold.

Draco stood before Harry, wand angled in an unmistakable way. Hermione gave up all pretense of stealth as she rushed toward them, blood pounding at her temples. Draco’s eyes flicked toward her, unyielding ice the only thing within their silver depths, but quickly refocused on Harry.

Harry didn’t say a word, didn’t even raise his wand. Draco stalked closer, until his wand was resting upon Harry’s temple. Hermione was still meters away when Draco spoke, his familiar voice a chill in the warm night. “ _Avada Kedavra_.”


	13. Twelve

**~*~ Twelve ~*~**

 

Harry dropped like a stone. A scream tore from Hermione’s throat, the daggers of betrayal skewering through her. Draco’s frigid eyes glared across at her as she waved her wand. “ _Expelliarmus_.”

The Elder wand slammed into her hand, the force of it knocking her back a step. Draco dropped to the ground next to Harry, hands searching beneath the still body. A fresh wave of rage tore through Hermione.

“Get away from him.” Her voice was venom, the cruel twisting of her heart fueling every word.

Hands pulling the invisibility cloak clear, Draco crawled backwards on the ground, icy veneer shattering. “It’s not what you think.”

The sudden inundation of desperation into silver orbs stayed her hand. “Then explain.”

“The final Horcrux. It wasn’t an object.” Draco swallowed heavily, his eyes pleading. “It was Harry or at least Harry’s scar.”

Another tendril of betrayal crawled beneath her skin. “You knew. You knew by the time we went to Gringotts, even that day at Hogwarts.”

He hadn’t lied to her then, not exactly. When she’d asked about the cup he’d said he knew the form of all the remaining Horcruxes. But last night at Spinner’s End he’d lied to not only her face, but also Harry’s. He’d known he was going to kill Harry. Ice slid through her veins. Riddle had known too, that’s what the apparition had been about to tell her when Draco had intervened. He’d told her he loved her while burying a dagger in her back.

Hermione staggered backward a step, her world falling out from under her in mere seconds. This was different from all those times she’d let him point his wand at her and do what he willed. She’d known he would hurt her then; that his soul came a steep price. But they’d evolved, moved beyond to a place where she trusted him not to hurt her.

Her focus shifted from fractured silver to Harry’s motionless form on the ground between them. She couldn’t believe her eyes, refused to acknowledge the truth that lay before her. The man she loved couldn’t possibly have killed him, hadn’t stolen the hope of victory from beneath her feet. Because if he had, that meant... Her stomach turned, a different sort of bile rising now. That meant he was her enemy; that her next move would be against him. Her soul rebelled at the notion of harming him, but the cold logic of her rational mind assured her there could be no escape from this.

The anger burned stronger now, fueled by the tangled strings of her heart torn asunder. Hermione relished it, welcomed it until there was no pain or loss, only purpose. Her voice was a snarl when she spoke, Elder wand pointing at Draco’s chest. “Get up.”

He scrambled to his feet, eyes wide and lost. “Snape thought—“

“I don’t care what Snape thought.” And she didn’t. Whatever curiosity might have existed before had been seared away.

“It matters,” he tried again, taking a step toward her. A flick of the Elder wand froze him in place. “Hermione, I promise there is more. It truly isn’t what you think. If I could just—“

A growl rose deep in her throat. “What? Explain? Explain why you killed my best friend? Why Luna’s lying in pool of blood in the great hall? Why suddenly everything I’ve worked for is crashing down?”

She was screaming by the end, her voice ragged. Draco was silent now; some of the ice returning to desperate silver. He looked away from her, focus shifting to the dark forest looming beyond them. Hermione followed his gaze, a chill running down her spine. She could hear murmuring now, the high whine of Voldemort’s voice unmistakable in the sudden quiet.

Draco closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. He shoved Harry’s invisibility cloak and a dark stone she’d never seen before into her hands. “Take these. The cloak is better than your charm.”

Her fingers closed reflexively around the cloak and stone. She still itched to curse him, to make him pay for what he’d done, but the threat of Voldemort could not be ignored. “What are you doing?”

His eyes slid to her as he knelt beside Harry. Ice had overwhelmed his visage and the consummate Death Eater looked back at her. The wand twitched between her fingers, but he didn’t look away, didn’t seem to notice the threat at all. With a low grunt he pulled Harry’s limp body up before slinging it across his shoulders. One of Harry’s hands dropped across Draco’s chest, lifeless. Hermione’s breath caught, pain clawing through rage for an infinite moment.

“Trust me.”

It was an absurd statement for him to make with Harry’s lifeless form draped across him. She had trusted him and now they were here, the boy she’d worked so hard to save lost in an instant. She shook her head, unable to even contemplate doing as he asked.

A harried sigh shuddered through Draco, Harry’s body weighing him down more than before. Draco held her fiery glare. “It’s my turn to sacrifice. Don’t hesitate.”

He’d said that in the cottage by the sea. She hadn’t understood what he’d meant then and she certainly didn’t understand now. He turned slowly away from her and toward the voices still humming beyond the dark foliage. She willed her hand to move, her lips to speak some painful curse, but she remained still and silent.

Her chest was tight, a myriad of emotions waging war within, as she followed him into the dark abyss of trees. Draco made no effort to quell the sound of his footsteps against the forest floor. But he had nothing to fear from Voldemort. After all, the Boy Who Lived was nothing but a corpse across his shoulders now.

Hermione drew Harry’s cloak over her as the voices grew louder, the ebony stone still clenched within her hand. Draco burst into the clearing and suddenly there was only silence. He walked steadily toward Voldemort, ignoring the ring of Death Eaters entirely.

“Potter, my Lord.” Harry was unceremonious dropped to the ground. Draco followed, kneeling before Voldemort, head dropped in subservience.

A bitter taste rose in her mouth at the sight, a confirmation of the icy truth sliding though her veins. Voldemort shifted, the slit of his mouth transforming into a gruesome smile. “Well done, Draco. Although I am rather disappointed that you chose to take his life yourself. Was I not clear enough that Potter is mine and mine alone?”

Draco’s head remained bowed. “I saw an opportunity and I took it before Potter slipped through our grasp once again.”

Voldemort laughed, a million times worse than the chilling cackle that had escaped Riddle’s ghostly mouth. “I would almost believe you, Draco, if I hadn’t had a very interesting conversation with Severus Snape earlier this evening.”

Silver eyes snapped up to stare into reptilian slits. If her veins had run cold before, they were frozen solid now. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat and then another as she watched Draco slowly rise from his crouch. Voldemort’s grin was a bloody slash across his face, igniting another degree of terror within her. This wasn’t Draco tearing her world apart yet again; this was the end, no more world left, only infinite death. She could see the muscles of Draco’s jaw clench as he stared back at the monster before him.

“You must be mistaken, My Lord.” The words were subservient; the tone was not. Silver eyes were nothing but cruel ice.

Voldemort didn’t bat a slitted eye. “Oh, come now Draco, don’t make this any worse than it already is.” He angled his body to address the tightening circle of Death Eaters. “It has come to my attention that Severus Snape was working for Dumbledore. The old fool torments us still from his grave.” A long hiss echoed across the meadow. “And Severus brought Draco along. Is that why you were so late to claim your prize last summer, young Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco stared back, expressionless and deadly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A blood-red lip curled. “Just because I can’t get into your head, boy, doesn’t mean I can’t find out.”

“Fine, torture me, do your best. It won’t matter.” He didn’t flinch as he stared down the half-man before him, the set of his jaw fierce, the fire in his eyes brooking no quarter. “You’ll get nothing from me, you coward.”

A murmur rose through the Death Eaters at his words, a confirmation of his treason, but also a challenge to the monster before them. Hermione edged closer, suddenly at sea again, her emotions spinning like a tornado. Harry still lay at Voldemort’s feet, forgotten for now, but no less dead. And yet, Draco stood above Harry’s lifeless corpse spewing acidic words, daring Voldemort to blink. She could barely breathe as a chilling mix of adrenaline and terror curled through her, pooling in her gut, heavy as lead. Fingernails dug into her palms where she grasped the odd black stone and the Elder wand, blood seeping to the surface, but the pain hardly registered, nothing compared to the devastation playing out before her.

Voldemort’s wand was pointed at Draco now, but still the silver eyes betrayed no fear. Through clenched teeth he murmured, “Waiting for something, Tom?”

The explosion of red in the reptilian eyes ushered in another cavalcade of dread down her spine. There was a moment of complete, harrowing silence before the hiss echoed through the trees. “ _Crucio_!”

Draco collapsed instantly, tumbling over Harry’s corpse, twitching as the spell continued. He was utterly silent, not even a whimper escaping his spasming mouth. But she could see the pain driving through him, drawing him closer and closer to utter ruin. Voldemort didn’t look away, his gnarled teeth gashing in delight. The Death Eaters were eerily silent now, a laden unease growing within their ranks as they shifted silently, some angling away from the continued attack.

Hermione could feel the seconds drag by, turning into minutes while Draco silently convulsed before her. Her heart was breaking all over again, her soul torn in ways she’d never imagined. She didn’t trust him, could never forgive him for killing Harry, but he didn’t deserve this. How long did it take before his mind started to go? Before that light behind silver eyes that she treasured even now was extinguished forever? Sobs tore at her lips, but she refused to let them pass. There would be no mercy in this haunted lea.

A sudden movement caught her eye, a light racing toward them through the spindly trees. A terrier solidified before her, its meaning unmistakable. A surge of hope pierced through the horror as she turned once more toward the clearing. Nagini was dead.

Draco was moaning now, unintelligible words that sounded like nothing and everything. There was blood running from his nose, his eyes and even his ears, pale skin a canvas of scarlet. Some of the Death Eaters were cackling now, others backing away. A hood fell away in the circle and Narcissa Malfoy stepped forward, tears gleaning in her eyes. Voldemort didn’t look up from the gruesome art he carved.

Hermione couldn’t stand to watch, couldn’t hide away as he was so violently abused. _It’s my turn to sacrifice_. _Don’t Hesitate_. His pleading words tore through her. Her hand clenched, drawing attention to the wand grasped between white fingers. The Elder wand. She stared at it, at last seeing it for what it was. Draco’s unhinged babbling continued to assault her ears, cutting through all doubt.

She let the cloak fall away just enough for the wand to cleave through the muggy night air. Then she closed her eyes, focusing on the pitiful whimpers spilling from near dead lips, on the sight of Harry falling before her, on the blood coating Luna’s lips as she whispered her last words. She focused until there was only crimson rage, a hurricane within begging to be set free.

She released the storm. “ _Avada Kedavra_.”


	14. Thirteen

**~*~ Thirteen ~*~**

 

Hermione stumbled as the jet of green shot from the Elder wand, a deadly missile in the dour night. The monster with the eyes of a serpent and the heart of cold onyx never stood a chance. The blast slammed into him with the power of Muggle dynamite, rocketing his misshapen form through the deadly night. The green fractured around him, consuming flesh until there was only howling bone, a blood curdling scream that reverberated though the forest in eerie wails. Then the bone was consumed, turning to milky ash in the turbid air. The frantic screech continued as the ash became a whirlwind, invisible forces sending the gruesome power in a frantic dance to the heavens. There was a final shriek that imprinted on her soul, vile and utterly inescapable, and then total silence.

Through the cloud of dissipating ash, Tom Riddle stared back at her, dark eyes boring through every defense. A terrifying smile adorned his full lips as he raised a finger to them, as if telling a child to be silent. Hermione raised the Elder wand again, but he was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. So quickly she couldn’t be sure he’d been real.

The clearing erupted into motion before her. Narcissa Malfoy flung herself upon her fallen son, tears trailing down her angled cheeks. Other Death Eaters ran into the forest, masks cast aside as they realized their master was gone. Still others closed in on the Malfoys, cackles and hisses emanating from beneath hoods. Narcissa spun to face her attackers, vicious determination shining in her silver eyes.

The assault began with no warning, only the hiss of some curse best never seen or heard. Narcissa stood her ground, wand flying with a dexterity Hermione envied. Some of the Death Eaters dropped to the ground, but it didn’t matter how skilled Draco’s mother was, she was outnumbered, outgunned.

Hermione strode forward, not giving herself time to think or doubt. She draped the cloak over Harry, still utterly immobile in the worst possible way. Draco had come to rest several feet closer to the center of the clearing in his cruel spasms, but she ignored him, fighting every instinct as she stepped over his still trembling body. His mother had already checked; he would live. She repeated the mantra as she came to stand back to back with Narcissa Malfoy, the other woman sending her a quick nod between labored breaths and parries.

She put the Elder wand to work doing what it craved most, winning. Silver mask after silver mask fell in its wake. Her spells shed no blood, nor broke any bone. Indeed the heady rage that had fueled her killing curse was depleted now, a mere simmer within weary bones. Hermione wanted to never see that sickly green again, to never fight another battle that stole her very soul. For she knew in that missile of hate, rage and utter impotence a part of her had been torn away, never to return. So she stunned them, petrified them, laid them to non-eternal rest until only Bellatrix Lestrange stood before them.

“I always knew you were the weak one, Cissy. Just like Andromeda.” Bellatrix’s maniacal eyes promised ruin as she stared down her sister. “You never had the strength to protect yourself and you certainly don’t have the strength to kill your own flesh and blood.”

Narcissa merely grunted, meeting her dark sister’s attack with ardor. The three women dueled, neither side gaining, as Bellatrix slowly edged away. Hermione tracked her trajectory, ever aware of the danger lurking behind those bloodthirsty eyes. Curses continued to charge the damp air, but still Hermione couldn’t determine her purpose, too much of her energy taken up by the assault on her shield and the few spells she managed to sling into the dark night. The Elder wand could have ended it, and quickly, but Hermione pulled back from its dark desires, unwilling to unravel yet another part of her tattered soul. It was already too late when she realized Bellatrix’s intention.

They had begun the fight with Narcissa standing between Bellatrix and her son; now he lay between them. Harrowing satisfaction gleamed in crazed eyes as the dark sister spoke, “ _Avada Kedavra.”_

A broken wail tore from Narcissa’s throat as she moved, too quickly for Hermione to realize her intention. The green light smashed into her petite chest, throwing her atop her son.

All breath abandoned Hermione as Bellatrix turned her lethal stare to the last woman standing. The Elder wand pulsed in her hand, begging her to unleash it. And she wanted to; she wanted to let whatever anger still lingered join with that sinister wand to end the vile creature standing before her once and for all. And yet her lips were frozen, her body rebelling against the darkness sliding within. But Bellatrix’s lips were moving and Hermione could not let the madwoman murder again, not Draco, not her.

She forced the words through her lips, letting the Elder wand tear what it needed from her soul. “ _Avada—_ “

“ _Kedavra._ ”

A thinner jet of green joined with the powerful blast. Hermione didn’t wait to see if the streams of lethal green met their target, only heard the telltale sign of a body falling against wet grass. She was on her knees beside Draco in an instant, her hands roaming over blood-crusted skin as she drowned in luminous eyes. His mother’s wand dangled from his pale fingers, falling silently to the ground as he collapsed against her.

His throat worked silently for a long moment before hoarse words scraped through. “Harry…”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she stared at him, willing the words to come forth. “Yes? Harry what?”

He tried again. “Harry… he’s not… dead.”

Draco tumbled to the sodden ground as she ripped away from him. Hermione had the cloak off Harry in an instant, her fingers trailing along his pale neck until she felt the murmur of a pulse. It was weak, barely strong enough to feel, but unmistakable. Hermione looked back at Draco, wincing as he slowly pushed himself up again. “Did you know?”

Wary silver eyes fractured further. He shook his head, grimacing at even the slight movement. “Snape… thought he might survive.”

Draco looked as she felt, utterly used by the world, lost beyond measure. A large part of her wanted to crawl across the barren ground that separated them and pull him close until the tremors ceased to wrack his abused body. But she couldn’t forget he had turned his wand on Harry, not knowing if Boy Who Lived would live up to his name. He’d been willing to murder Harry to save them all. It had been horrifyingly necessary in the end, but made it impossible to bridge the distance between them, even with his mother lifeless beside him.

She ached for him, loved him so much it tore her apart, but with the wound of the killing curse still fresh on her soul she needed time. Time to put all the broken pieces together, to discover which ones she would never find again. Time to understand the person she’d become.


	15. Fourteen

**~*~ Fourteen ~*~**

 

It was hours before they crossed the threshold of the Great Hall, Harry and Narcissa levitated in their wake. Draco still swayed on his feet, the aftermath of Voldemort’s curse still unfolding. Too many faces to recognize rushed toward Hermione, a sudden flash of red giving way to Ron’s bloodshot eyes. He wasn’t looking at her, devastated blue eyes locked on Harry.

“Is he…?” Ron couldn’t finish the question, his voice rough.

“No.” She shook her head sharply. “No. He’s unconscious, has been for awhile now, but he’s alive. I promise.”

Draco flinched beside her, sharp features awash with renewed anguish. She looked away before he could meet her stare, chest tightening with raw emotion. As if sensing her need, he turned away entirely to tend to his mother. Hermione watched him from the corner of her eye as he laid Narcissa gently on the ground among the dead, simply another body in a sea of casualties.

Ron stepped closer, strong arms encircling her. Her breath hitched as she relaxed against him, but she didn’t allow the tears to come, all too aware even one tear and the dam would break. And then she might never stop crying. So instead she watched Draco over Ron’s shoulder, as he knelt beside his mother, caressing her hair with infinite gentleness before pulling a blanket over her pallid face.

The approach of Moody, McGonagall and Shacklebolt had Ron stepping away, his warm hand trailing over her chilled skin before she was alone again. Moody’s magical eye spun between Draco and then Harry, a frown growing on his harried visage.

“Follow me, the both of you.” His natural eye stilled on Hermione and then Draco in quick succession, leaving no doubt of to whom he spoke.

Hermione listened to the scape of their shoes against the rough stone as they wended through corridors. She hadn’t marked where Moody led them, hadn’t raised her eyes from the stones below. Shacklebolt and McGonagall trailed after, speaking in hushed tones Hermione didn’t have the energy to try and decipher. At last, the telltale groan of the stairs to the headmaster’s office had her focus flying up, meeting silver eyes flashing with alarm. She stayed the impulse to twine her fingers around his, letting her fist clench empty air at her side.

They dutifully followed Moody up the spiraling stairs until they all stood in an office full of dead men. She’d never thought of the portraits on the wall with such a morbid lens, but it was true. Against her better judgment she searched the walls for a new portrait, of the man who’d give her a chance, if only to save his charge. Snape’s black eyes stared out at her from a narrow frame, the cunning gleam no less in this pale reflection than in life. She caught Draco staring at the headmaster he’d killed, eyes alight with too much emotion to decipher. Sensing her gaze, he angled toward her for a moment, lips moving in silence, shaping words she could not understand.

Moody cleared his throat from across the room, drawing both Hermione and Draco closer to where he stood in the atrium. Both his eyes bored holes through Draco’s skull. “I may not be able to read your mind, Mr. Malfoy. But I can see the residue as clear as day.”

Hermione glanced between them. “What do you mean, sir?”

Moody’s magical eye snapped to her, scanning in a wholly unpleasant manner. “Although Ms. Granger seems equally guilty, if not more so.” He paused, eyes darting between them. “I am saying that I can see the killing curse on the both of you, and on Harry too. But he was the cursed, not the caster.”

Her throat went dry and she barely was able to croak out, “I see.”

Shacklebolt shifted to stand by Moody’s right shoulder, dark eyes unforgiving. “What Moody is trying to say is that he can tell one of you attempted to kill Potter. It would make this so much easier if you would just tell us who.”

“Don’t you care who killed Voldemort?” The words burst from her, drawing looks of surprise from the Order leaders.

Moody exchanged weighted stares with both McGonagall and Shacklebolt before turning his uncanny focus back to Hermione. “We assumed that was Potter.”

“Then you assumed wrong.” It was Draco who spoke now, some fire returning to his gaze.

“You?” Moody was incredulous as he stared at Draco.

An impolite snort escaped Draco’s lips, a trace of what he’d been once upon a time within these walls. “Merlin, no. It was her.”

The sudden inundation of their stares had her stomach knotting. McGonagall stepped in front of the men, her kind eyes tracing the contours of Hermione’s face. “It was really you, Ms. Granger, wasn’t it.”

“Yes.” The word was barely a whisper, ghosting across the room of dead men and disappearing quickly into the void.

The older cohort seemed unsettled, except perhaps McGonagall who looked almost as if she were proud. Moody huffed, pacing back and forth several agonizing seconds before looking at her again. “Well then. The matter remains. One of you killed Potter, though you did a rather poor job of it.”

“Snape had thought there was a chance he would live. Since we were attempting to destroy the Horcrux, not Potter.” The ice was back in full force as Draco stared, unrepentant and unflinching.

If any of the Order members were surprised to hear a Horcrux mentioned, they didn’t show it. Perhaps they had been aware all along of Dumbledore’s task. Or perhaps Snape had told them in the days when the end was near and the risk impossibly high already.

Shacklebolt sighed. “Whatever your reasons may have been, Mr. Malfoy, we cannot allow you to go free, not until Potter wakes and we are able to discuss the situation with him. Then we will, of course, honor his decision.”

“I expected nothing less.”

Hermione’s eyes flew to Draco, chest tightening impossibly. He’d known the Order would detain him, that Hermione would never look at him without the shroud of Harry’s body falling between them. He’d known and yet he’d done it all the same. She had no idea if that made him the bravest one in the room or the most foolish. A spurt of anger bubbled up within as she stared into icy silver resolution, anger that he had made the choice alone, that he had forfeited what lay between them.

And what if he had told her? Would she have been able to strike Harry down herself if required? She couldn’t say, honestly didn’t know what she was capable of in this world of eternal gray.

The others were discussing something together, their bodies shifted away from Hermione and Draco, if only for a moment. She felt the heat of him as he came to stand beside her, arm brushing lightly against her shoulder. The fire across her skin was so familiar, every nerve begging for more. But that only deepened the ache, the loss so profound she could barely comprehend it. She pulled away until the pain abated, until he no longer saturated every nerve.

There was a sharp intake of breath at her retreat, but he didn’t shift, didn’t attempt to cross the distance again. “Whatever you do, don’t tell them about any of the things you got in the forest.”

It took a moment for the fog in her mind to lift, for her to realize he spoke of the wand, the cloak and the stone. Her pulse thundered in sudden recognition. The Deathly Hallows. Out there in the Forbidden Forest, with Voldemort only a breath away, Draco had made her master of them all. The Elder wand pulsed in her pocket, as if responding to her realization, to the power she now wielded.

Hermione snagged his sleeve between trembling fingers. “What have you done?”

“What I had to. For us to survive.”

She remembered those words at Spinner’s End, in another lifetime, when she had still clung to the notion that good would prevail through sacrifice, that ironclad determination would guide her to salvation. But only sickly green power had delivered that, the price still unknown.

His fingers curled around hers, fire winding about her hand until she couldn’t help but return the gesture. But Moody was looking at them again and it was too late for any whispered goodbyes. She let his hand fall from hers as he was ushered out of the office, bound for yet another purgatory.


	16. Fifteen

**~*~ Fifteen ~*~**

 

The Great Hall was a scene of utter carnage, the price of victory in blood and tears. Hermione could hardly stand to look at all the bodies littered across the stone as Ron told her of Fred’s death, of Lupin’s, of Lavender’s. She hadn’t been particularly close with any of them except Lupin, but every name was another barb to her tortured heart.

Ron had invited her join the Weasleys, but one look at the pure loathing in Ginny’s eyes and Hermione had taken her leave. Of course Ginny’s ire was stronger now that Harry lay in the Hospital Wing, not a scratch on him, but no sign of waking. Ron told her Madam Pomfrey figured it was some kind of magical coma that prevented him from waking, perhaps a side effect of surviving the killing curse a second time. They didn’t know, had to wait until the ministry was secured before transporting him to St. Mungo’s.

Hermione spotted Tonks, kneeling over Lupin along the back wall. She walked over quietly, dropping down beside the woman. “I’m so sorry, Tonks.”

Thin arms pulled Hermione into a desperate hug. Tonks’ voice was broken, balancing on the ragged edge as she murmured, “I heard from Moody you killed the bastard. You have my profound thanks.”

Hermione hands came to rest gently on her shaking back, Tonks’ ashen gray hair filling her vision. “Don’t thank me. The price was too steep.”

Tonks’ pulled back a hair, red-rimmed eyes boring through Hermione. “Perhaps, but we are free now. My son will grow up in a world without fear.”

“Your son?” Hermione’s breath skittered, her eyes darting down.

“Yes.” Tonks clasped one of Hermione’s trembling hands and placed it on her abdomen. “My son.”

Hermione was shaking too much to notice any movement within, too stunned by the revelation to do anything but stare down at the their hands. “Did… did he know?”

A fresh wave of grief crashed through Tonks’ eyes. “He knew. He wanted me to stay behind, to be safe. But he also knew there was no keeping me from this fight.”

“I hope it will be a better world,” Hermione offered. She had hardly thought of what might rise from the ashes now. There was too much that had altered within, too much broken to see beyond the carcass of her soul.

Tonks paused a moment, letting Hermione’s hand slip away. “I heard my aunt, Draco’s mother, is here.”

Among the dead. Another causality, another scar Hermione could never forget. “Yes, I can take you to her if you want.”

“I would appreciate that very much.”

After Hermione had showed Tonks to the row where Draco had left his mother, she wound through the labyrinth until Luna lay before her. She settled onto the cold stone by Luna’s pallid face, which had grown more ashen in the ensuing hours since Hermione had lain her here.

“I promised you I’d tell you after.” Hermione’s guts tangled, her soul shuddering. “And I won’t break that promise. He told me he loved me, Luna, but… it all fell to pieces in the woods out there. I believe him, I do, but after… after he put his wand to Harry’s scar and muttered those words, I’m not sure it matters.”

Hermione scrubbed at an errant tear that threatened to escape. “He did it, so I wouldn’t have to. Did it, so it wouldn’t be my choice, but… but I deserved the chance to make that choice, Luna. It would have been bloody awful, but I deserved it and so did Harry.”

She turned the black rock, the Resurrection stone, over in her hand. Harry’s cloak was tucked safely in the beaded bag that had somehow survived. And the Elder wand, it vibrated gently against her hip, tucked into her jeans pocket beside her original wand. “He made me the Master of Death, Luna. I don’t even know what that means. I never could figure out the Hallows.”

She stroked Luna’s pale tresses. “Godric, I wish you were here, Luna. You’d know what to do. You’d tell me about some insane creature that could clear my head and then you’d tell me exactly how to put my pieces back together.”

The tears threatened to fall in earnest now, her vision blurring, Luna’s horribly wan features swimming. “I wish you were here.” She repeated, voice losing the battle against grief. Sobs ripped through her as she collapsed against Luna, hardly aware of the cold flesh that met her desperate touch.

Hermione cried for Luna, for all the others lining the stones in the hall. She cried for Harry, caught between life and death, perhaps lost forever. For Draco, who had given everything and had lost it all, his mother taken by eternal rest. And most of all for herself, for the girl who’d believed in changing the world, for all those parts she would never find again, stolen by the storm of green and crimson rage.


	17. Sixteen

**~*~ Sixteen ~*~**

 

A week passed, the Great Hall transforming from makeshift graveyard to a dining hall once more. Many left Hogwarts, returning home when the Order declared the ministry purged of Voldemort’s rot. The Weasleys remained, Ginny holding constant vigil at Harry’s bedside, Ron giving Hermione wan smiles that broke her just a bit more every time.

Hermione spent most of her time outside beneath the hot sun, which burned the darkness out, if only for a time. She’d considered leaving, perhaps traveling to Australia and finding her parents, perhaps never returning. But Harry was unchanged and Draco remained indefinitely detained by the Order. Beyond the inner circle no one knew who had cast the curse that kept Harry from the living. The Prophet had reported on the end of the war but the details had been mercifully absent. She didn’t think she could stomach the entire the entire Wizarding world knowing she’d been the one to cast the final curse. Harry was the hero and he would stay that way if she had anything to do with it.

She’d taken to wearing the Resurrection stone, bound by white twine, about her neck. It knocked gently against the jeweled H that she hadn’t been able to remove, her fingers trembling uncontrollably every time they rested on the clasp. Despite the inability, she hadn’t visited Draco, hadn’t been able to face that wound. So instead she’d helped Hagrid restore the grounds, even assisted Professor Sprout in the greenhouses.

Anything to avoid the dank castle and the gleam of Tom Riddle’s eyes. Hermione would have forgotten the vision of him in the ash, except he’d stayed with her, his handsome features carved in silent triumph as he watched her from dark corners. He never appeared in the company of others, but when she was alone in those haunted halls, he was everywhere. She’d begun to doubt her curse had truly ended him; that perhaps there was a soul fragment they’d forgotten, that Draco’s deception had been for nothing at all. She didn’t dare voice the notion, the implication too dire to reveal without confirmation. And yet she avoided the specter of him, no curiosity to divine his true nature.

They’d repotted Valarian and Belladonna today and it had taken all her strength not to take a sprig of the deadly Belladonna with her. She had no idea what she’d use such a poison for, but it had seemed prudent to the part of her brain that jumped at every shadow, still poised for battle. She’d taken the ingredients for dreamless sleep instead, ashamed of the amount she’d already swiped from Madam Pomfrey’s reserves. Indeed, she slept no better now than before, when worry for Draco had consumed her. Perhaps nothing had changed at all, but she refused acknowledge that avenue, paved with pain as it was.

So she tossed and turned in the desolate prefect’s room, adjacent to the Gryffindor dorms. She was thankful for the privacy, especially with the Weasleys occupying the rest of the space, but like her room at 12 Grimmauld Place, she’d avoided adding any personal touch to the place.

The moonlight leaked across the thin sheet, the sweet scent of night flowers cloying the air. She turned the inky stone in her palm, as her exhausted eyes traced the sway of the trees beyond.

“You have to sleep sometime.”

Hermione nearly screeched, her pulse suddenly a rapid tattoo. But the voice was familiar. Impossible, but familiar. She turned her head away from the bright window and lost whatever breath remained. Luna sat at the foot of the bed, legs crossed in front of her, familiar blue eyes radiant.

“You’re dead.” They’d buried her on the Lovegood Estate some days ago, the first of many funerals Hermione had attended. The sky had been a brilliant blue, matching the shade of those luminous eyes staring back at her now.

A gloomy smile crossed Luna’s lips. “And so I am. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk.”

Hermione reached out, her fingers trailing across warm flesh. Eyes wide, she stared up at her friend. “How?”

“Oh, you’ll figure it out. I wouldn’t want to spoil the discovery.” Luna sighed, shifting on the sheets. The fabric moved with her, as if she truly was flesh and bone.

Hermione cast aside the sheet, crawling to sit across from Luna, two girls at a macabre sleepover. “Are you okay?”

Luna’s lips quirked. “Are you asking me about what comes after death? Because if you are, I can’t tell you. That’s part of the deal, I guess.”

“What can you tell me?”

“That I miss you. That you’ll have to forgive yourself sometime.” Blue eyes shone like gems in the liquid moonlight. “And you will have to, Hermione. You can’t hold all this inside; no one can.”

Hermione did not do either of them the disservice of pretending not to know what Luna was talking about. “I don’t think I can…”

“Start with forgiving him.” A knowing look now, one Hermione could not hide from.

“I…” She trailed off, unable to find the words to describe the decimation of her heart and soul.

“Sometimes the mending is even more painful than the breaking, but it can still be endured.” Another one of those slips of wisdom Luna kept hidden away until just the right moment.

Hermione couldn’t look at her friend. “He chose for me. He didn’t let me decide.”

“And did he mean to hurt you?” Luna’s warm hand was on hers, the absolute joy of the touch overpowering. How could this happen, how could a girl in the ground be so warm?

“No,” she admitted, had perhaps always known since he’d revealed the truth of the Horcrux dwelling within Harry. “He wanted to spare me the pain.”

The impossible warm hand squeezed hers. “Intention matters, Hermione.”

Didn’t she know. Draco had told her that too, with her blood on his hands and rivers down his cheeks. He’d intended to kill Dumbledore just as she’d intended to destroy Voldemort and Bellatrix. He’d faced that impossible choice and done what was necessary. But the cost. She’d never understood the cost until it was her words, her magic decimating flesh and blood. And yet he’d said those words, knowing the cost, and sent Harry to his knees in an instant.

“Talk to him.” Luna’s eyes were darker now, deep sapphires in the murky night.

Her soul ached for him, for the completion that only he could give her and yet she could not imagine facing him. In the week she’d stayed away, there were no fewer broken edges of her psyche, no healing of the gaping wounds that night had wrought. There was only utter silence and the haunting eyes of the man she had destroyed.

“I see him, Luna.” It was insane to admit to what lurked beyond corners, but Luna was irrational too, a miracle she did not understand.

Bright eyes scanned the bedroom, lingering on the deepest of shadows before finally sliding back to Hermione. “I’m not surprised. You think of him often.”

The realization was a shot of dread, a cold drip down her spine. She did think of Tom Riddle often, not of the monster he’d become, but of the boy who’d split his soul and started down the path of no return. She wondered if he could have been stopped, what exactly the killing curse had felt like for him the very first time, if he was born a scourge against the light or if the world had made him one. She wondered because that rage still lurked beneath the surface, those eyes that matched Bellatrix Lestrange’s still reflecting in dark mirrors. She could feel the potential stirring, the absolute knowledge that she could take what she wished. Only the bright sun held it at bay, the desperate jumble of fear and grief not enough to stem the tide of the darkness within.

When she looked up again it was Tom Riddle’s eyes she met, his long legs crossed on her bed. This time she did scream, a rip across the silent night. He only smiled, full lips twisting in cold amusement.

“Hello, Hermione.”

His voice was soft velvet, utterly different from the nasal tones of Voldemort. Her stomach turned, dread coiling deep. But he didn’t move from Luna’s spot, didn’t make to follow her as she retreated across the room, fingers fumbling blindly for the doorknob. No, he only watched her, drawing goosebumps across every millimeter of flesh.

The door finally gave way and she tumbled out of the room, racing down the stairs to the common room. She didn’t stop there, her feet pounding against cold stone until she was outside the castle walls, bathed in moonlight. Hermione waited at the banks of the fathomless lake until dawn fractured the ghastly night, until she could pretend the darkness within was gone, if only for a minute.


	18. Seventeen

**~*~ Seventeen ~*~**

 

Hermione slept in the Gryffindor common room after that, the fire raging through the night. If any of the other occupants of the castle noticed, they didn’t comment, for which she was thankful. The long hours of daylight were a balm to her soul, a sure respite from the darkness within and without.

Nearly six weeks had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, as the ministry had termed it, and there was still no change in Harry, despite his transfer to St Mungo’s. She’d visited a handful of times, usually with Ron, but sinking terror filled Hermione every time she looked down at his immobile features, more stone than human. What if he never recovered? What if Draco was convicted of murdering the Boy Who Lived? The Order still hadn’t released any information about the source of Harry’s condition, but it was only a matter of time before the wheels of justice began to turn.

Six weeks since she’d felt Draco’s fingers fall from hers. Luna, or whatever had taken her fiend’s form, had been right. She needed to visit him. And yet, she hadn’t. But she hadn’t left Hogwarts either. With Harry moved, the Weasleys dispersed, leaving McGonagall, the school staff and occasionally Moody or Shacklebolt as her only company. Other former and current students passed through, helping to repair the grounds and castle, pausing beside the white monolith to pay their respects to the great headmaster.

Hermione was covered in dirt, sweat dripping muddy rivulets across her skin when Ron appeared at the edge of Hagrid’s garden. Despite the surge of sorrow that always accompanied his appearance, she was glad to see him.

“I don’t think I’d have believed it if they told me the Great Hermione Granger, slayer of Voldemort, would spend the summer toiling in a garden.” His tone was wry, his blue eyes soft.

“Nobody knows I killed Voldemort, Ron,” she chided, rubbing her dirty palms on the ragged jean shorts she’d donated to the gardening cause.

“Oh, I know,” he assured. “If the ministry got wind of how it actually went down, you’d have an Order of Merlin before you could blink. As it stands, they’re holding with Harry somehow defeated Voldemort before the spell rebounded on him.”

“So the order hasn’t thrown Draco under the bus yet.” She looked away before she could see Ron’s reaction to her words.

Ron sighed, moving to sit next to her on the warm earth. “I know Ginny has decided that Malfoy’s the devil incarnate for putting Harry in that bed, but she doesn’t know the whole story. I may not like the guy, but I understand why he did it. Not really sure I could have if it had been up to me and then where would we be? Some Death Eater prison camp while Voldemort went on to conquer the world?”

Hermione looked up sharply, gaze snapping to meet honest blue. “You don’t blame him?”

Ron shrugged. “I did for awhile, until I forced myself to really think about it. Malfoy knew that Harry was the last Horcrux, that the only way to really kill Voldemort was to take out Harry with him. Snape had told him Harry could survive it, so he did what none of us would have.”

“We should have been given the choice,” she protested.

“So we could tear each other apart? Argue about which one of us would kill Harry? And even if we did decide to do it, could you have truly meant to kill him? Enough to make the curse destroy the Horcrux?” His lips pursed, a knowing gleam behind those kind eyes.

Hermione swallowed. Ron had a valid argument there. She knew what it took to cast that curse and in all likelihood she could never have cast it with Harry’s green eyes shining back at her. Not even if she embraced that darkness lurking just beneath her skin. Not even with the Elder wand unleashing that buried fury. She had taken down Voldemort with Harry’s death fueling her rage; she could not imagine finding the strength needed to turn that dark rage on a friend.

“So what’re you saying?” She finally asked, the warmth of the day baking into her skin, warming the dread encircling her heart.

“Malfoy did the best he could in a bloody awful situation.” Ron paused, jaw working silently for a long moment. “I saw how he looked at you, that night at Spinner’s End. He would never hurt you, not if he could help it. I hated that look when I saw it, but now I’m thankful for it. We wouldn’t be standing here today if he hadn’t loved you so damn much.”

Ron’s words were a bucket of cold water and an explosion of sunshine woven together, at once joyous and shocking. “Ron…”

“I love you Hermione and I’m probably not going to stop loving you for a really long time, but I’m not going to stand in the way of your happiness either.” He sighed, running a tanned hand through fiery hair. “The guy did the best thing he could think of, in order to spare you the choice and to save us all. I may not be singing his praises to anyone else, but I can’t deny the truth, Hermione. Draco Malfoy is a bloody brave git.”

_It’s my turn to sacrifice_. She’d understood those words for weeks now, knew exactly what he’d been trying to convey in the terror of that forest. She bit her lip. “But what if Harry never wakes up?”

“He will.” There was utter conviction in Ron’s blue eyes. “They can’t find anything wrong with him at St. Mungo’s, which means Harry’s still in there somewhere. We just have to find a way to lead him back, Hermione.”

She sighed. “But—“

“No.” Ron shook his head, a hand waving away her doubt. “No. You’re the most bloody brilliant witch of our time, Hermione. You killed Voldemort. You can find a way to bring Harry back too. You just have to try. Stop bloody hiding away, refusing to be part of this new world you created.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. A moment later she snapped it shut. “It’s not that simple, Ronald. There are… side effects of what I did.”

“Then find a way to get over them.” There was sympathy in his expression, but his words brooked no argument.

She looked away, unable to endure the confidence in his blue eyes, the complete trust that she would solve this too. Before she could pull Harry from whatever depths Draco had cast him to, she had her own demons to battle. Or more accurately her own demon, seeing as Tom Riddle was a singular entity as far as she could tell. The Hallows had come with more than just raw power and Ron was right, hiding was doing none of them any good. Resignation spread through her veins; she would talk to Draco, if only because he was the only other soul that knew the power she wielded.

“I’ll go see Draco.”

A knowing smile spread across Ron’s lips. “Thank Merlin.”

“Shut up.” She flung a handful of dirt at him.

He laughed, the sound rich and real. “Very mature, Hermione.”

Hermione just grinned back, a smile stretching her lips, the first she could remember since the world had changed in irreparable ways, since she had tasted darkness on her tongue and welcomed it. She flung another volley of dirt in Ron’s direction.


	19. Eighteen

**~*~ Eighteen ~*~**

 

There was no answer to Hermione’s tentative knock on the door, but the knob turned easily, the knight in the portrait bowing. “We’ve been told to grant you complete access, Hermione Granger.”

She gave an awkward nod in return, not quite sure what to make of the knight’s words. She shuffled a few steps into the room and the door swung shut with a resounding thud. Adrenaline pulsed through her for a long moment, the sudden noise too much in the quiet room. There was a brown suede couch and a low table in the center, sconces lighting the walls with shadow and flame despite the daylight hour.

Hermione took another step forward, the plush rug giving way under her trainers. Books were scattered across the table, some littering the couch. A coffee mug still steaming with brown liquid sat at the far side of the low table. In all, the space was dark, but also warm and cozy. She ran a hand absently along the spine of the closest book, not bothering to read the title. Instead, she let her eyes close, let faint scent of coffee and worn paper waft through her, chasing the peace she knew it would bring.

Her skin tingled, utter certainty of his presence washing over her before she turned to face him. He was leaning against the arched doorway leading to one of the adjacent bedrooms. His posture was nonchalant, eyes brittle silver as he stared at her.

Draco didn’t say a word, the silence digging deep. Hermione’s hands twisted together, nails scraping across callused skin. “Harry’s in St. Mungo’s now. Still the same…” He didn’t move a muscle, so she babbled on. “Your father’s in Azkaban now and Andromeda and Tonks have taken charge of your mother’s…”

“Funeral.” The word was flat, lacking all affect. “I’m perfectly aware of what has happened to both of my parents, Granger.”

Granger. That name on his tongue was a bitter pill indeed. “I just want—“

“Just because you haven’t deigned to visit me in nearly two months doesn’t mean no one else has.” Ice flashed behind silver now, a wall between them. “I have been coordinating with Aunt Andromeda to find a venue befitting my mother. As for my father, I can’t say I care what happens to him. He left me and my mother for dead on multiple occasions and invited a monster into our house. I have agreed to testify for the Ministry, if the need arises. Which you would know, if you hadn’t been hiding away like some pathetic child.”

“I’m here now!” The words were pitiful even to her ears.

Draco’s lips curled, a shadow of his former sneer. “And how soon until you run away again? Go to Australia and never come back?” Her chest tightened as he read the truth behind her panicked eyes. “You have, haven’t you? You actually thought about it. Bloody Hell, Granger.”

She stared into icy silver, so sign of the warmth that had once shattered that façade. She stared and the rage grew, knotting underneath her skin, oozing out of the pit she’d buried it in. “You don’t get to be angry with me, Malfoy.” The name was a dagger on her tongue. “You don’t get to berate me about how long it’s been since you took everything from me. I trusted you and you killed him, not even bothering to tell me.”

A cold laugh emerged from sneering lips. “And what would you have done, Granger? Would you have saved us all instead? Would you have taken care of Potter when it was necessary?”

The rage trembled, fueled by the darkness curling beneath her skin. “I don’t know because you never gave me the chance.”

“Could you have done it if Potter wouldn’t live? If there wasn’t a single chance you’d see those green eyes again?” The sneer had faded, giving way to total frost. “Because I would have done it even if Potter would be a dead man. You know why? I knew the price and I’m willing to pay it.”

Even me? Another fragment of her soul crumbled at his words. The price. It had been more than Harry’s death; it had been the thin thread between them, the hope of building something worth fighting for. She shook, rage and loss knotting into something powerful. “If you’d told me it would have been different. If you’d trusted me.”

“Trust you to kill Potter?” Cold silver narrowed. “I know you; you couldn’t have done it.”

“And you did!” Hermione’s teeth gnashed together. “And that doesn’t make you better than me—“

“No, it doesn’t.” The chill had dulled now, his expression suddenly vacant. “It simply means I was willing to pay the price.”

To spare her. The vines of despair twisted about her heart, quelling the dark tendrils of rage. “I can’t forgive you. Not for lying to me and not for killing him.”

Draco didn’t even blink. “I don’t expect you to. I’ve told you a hundred times I’m not the person you want me to be. I’ll never hide that from you.”

“Then why?” She held his stare, trying to divine meaning beneath that immovable façade.

“It was my turn to sacrifice.”

The words held too much weight, too much to admit while staring back at him, her battered soul begging for reparations. So Hermione turned away, her hand skimming the edge of the couch. After her breathing had steadied, the tremble of her soul stilled for the moment, she angled toward him again. “Why did you make me master of the Hallows?”

If her abrupt change of subject surprised him, he didn’t show it. Draco merely moved into the room, not close enough to touch, but close enough to make her heart stutter, to make her ache for his skin against hers.

“I made the assumption that Dumbledore hadn’t lied when he’d told Snape his intention of uniting the Hallows, that the old coot had known they’d be necessary to bring Voldemort to his knees.” Quicksilver eyes held her stationary as he moved a step closer. “Of course Snape never told me about the Hallows, but eventually the apprentice becomes the master. Snape may have been clever, but he didn’t make the connection that I’d become the master of the Elder wand. He held to the belief that Dumbledore couldn’t have been batty enough to keep the wand in his possession. A poorly placed bit of faith. The old man was utterly mad.”

A part of her, a part that remained from before green light at the top of a tower, wanted to chastise him for such talk. But she had seen a great many things since Dumbledore had seemed the paragon of knowledge and truth. Enough things to know he’d had his own agenda, that if not for Draco and Hermione’s interference Harry’s demise might have been fraught with even more distress. She was agonizingly certain that Dumbledore had known of the Horcrux residing within Harry’s scar, had even used it to his advantage when the situation allowed it. But the former headmaster was beyond this mortal plane now and she had no desire to see those eyes twinkle again, not while understanding the cold-hearted facts. So instead she asked, “But what advantage came from uniting them? I never found anything in the books beyond the assertion that one would become Master of Death.”

Draco’s full lips pursed and her traitorous pulse jumped. “I assumed the power of the Elder wand would be amplified by the possession of the other Hallows and visa versa.”

That would certainly explain the Resurrection stone having a mind of its own and pulling Tom Riddle into focus around every bend. Perhaps she merely had to think of someone beyond the veil and they would appear. “There have certainly been side effects.”

He made to step toward her, but checked the motion, instead leaning back against the couch, shrewd eyes boring into her. “Side effects?”

“Like having the Elder wand’s power crawl under my skin like an itch I just can’t scratch and having slumber parties with Tom Riddle.”

Pale skin blanched as silver eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Horror skittered across his angled features and his jaw worked silently for several long moments before he spoke. His eyes were quicksilver now. “What do you mean see him?”

“You could say he’s been stalking me, showing up in every dark corner, even at the end of my bed.” She hoped her wry tone belied the frantic tattoo of her heart at the very thought of those dark eyes peering back at her.

Draco’s jaw tightened as he listened, liquid mercury darkening. His acute focus trailed over her skin, assessing her dirty back tank top and ragged jean shorts before coming to rest at the base of her neck. His eyes snapped back to hers. “Are you wearing the Resurrection stone, Granger?”

With all the talk of amplified effects, she could understand the incredulity behind his words. She sighed, lifting the stone away from her skin as she drew the white twine over her head, murmuring, “Seems a bit ill advised now, doesn’t it?”

“The stone works upon contact and upon the owner’s desire to see the deceased.” Draco took a step closer, nearly closing the gap between them. His breath was hot on her skin as he asked, “So why in Merlin’s name have you been thinking about Tom Bloody Riddle?”

She could hardly ignore the heat that pooled at his proximity, the sudden shortness of breath that had nothing to do with the memory of Riddle’s dark eyes. Hermione had to look away before she could concentrate on his question. She’d seen Riddle in the ash of Voldemort, moments after the tsunami of rage had been focused by the Elder wand into a lethal inferno of green. She’d seen him, as if looking in a mirror, as if seeing what might have been. Even that night he’d stolen Luna’s place at the foot of her bed she’d seen a gleam in his eye that matched her own. Dread pooled like lead as understanding shook her.

Hermione peered back at Draco, pulse racing still, but no longer due to his tempting proximity. “I can feel the darkness just beneath my skin, begging to let me unleash it, the Elder wand craving what lies beneath every time I use it. It wants to consume me; it knows what I’m capable of.”

He scanned her face, a frown tugging at his lips. “What does this have to do with Riddle, Granger?”

“When I killed him, I wanted to tear his soul to pieces all over again, to send every fragment of him into the fiery inferno of hell. I wanted to make him hurt like I did, to destroy him until there was nothing left.” She stared into calm silver eyes. “I didn’t just want to kill him and the Elder wand knew it. And so it let me have that power I craved, that darkness that incinerated my anger and turned it into something lethal. And now I can feel it, a shadow beneath my skin begging to be unleashed.”

He blinked slowly. “I still don’t see how this has anything to do with Riddle.”

Hermione swallowed, the lead brick of truth crushing her chest. “I can feel that shadow and when I look in the mirror, sometimes it’s Riddle’s eyes looking back. But it’s not some trick of the Resurrection stone, it’s me.” Her focus slid to the flutter of his pulse against his pale skin. “I think you’ve seen it before.”

Silence hung between them, heavier than the dread. Draco shifted until she could see the platinum of his hair swing into her field of view. She stayed resolutely still, until his palm burned into her cheek and her eyes swung to meet his.

“After Gringotts.” The words were barely a whisper.

Hermione nodded, suddenly drowning in those silver eyes that didn’t hold a shred of judgment. “I looked in the mirror and I only saw Bellatrix. That’s when I knew I could do what was necessary, when I knew that raging darkness flowed through my veins too.”

“That doesn’t make you Tom Riddle.”

“No,” she allowed, “But it doesn’t make me Hermione Granger either.”

He shrugged, luminous eyes boring through her in a way that made every nerve stand at attention. “Our names don’t define us. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore, regardless of names.” Her hand came to rest on the one burning through her skin into her very soul. “I’m broken and this time, I know there’s no fixing me.”

“Ask me.”

Her hand trembled against his. “Ask you what?”

Silver eyes shone, ice fracturing. “Ask me.”

And then she knew. “What did it feel like?”

“Like being torn limb from limb, and then finding out you’ll never have your hand again. Like being turned to stone, watching while your soul is chiseled away.” His voice was deep, suffused with the agony of the memory. “Like you can never go home again.”

The boy staring into the space Albus Dumbledore had once stood flashed before her eyes. He had felt all of that and more in that instant he’d paused, frozen atop that tower of shattered dreams.

Bile coated her throat and she swallowed, forcing it down. “How do you keep… doing that?” How did he keep killing, if only to ensure his own survival? It had taken all of her will to launch that final curse at Bellatrix despite the dire circumstances.

His hand dropped away from her skin, the loss sending a chill though her. “You find a place inside that’s only yours and then you let the rest of you be stripped away.”

“But how?” She couldn’t imagine finding safety within her shadowed soul. Beyond the angry scars, there were only forsaken dreams, the infinite loss that clouded everything.

Molten quicksilver obliterated all trace of ice. “I found you.”

Her heart skipped a beat, the magnitude of his declaration crashing down upon her. To escape the horror of the killing curse, the hewing of his very soul, he’d clung to her.

“I don’t…” She had no idea what to say. It didn’t change what he’d done, didn’t surmount the rift between them, but it mattered. It mattered so much it stole her breath away.

“I don’t expect anything from you, Hermione.” His fingers trembled as they traced the line of her jaw. “I told you, I know the price. You’ve already given me more than I could ever ask for. But I want to be here for you, however I can. If I can’t be the person you need, perhaps I can still be of some use.”

The words broke her heart all over again, made her wish the chasm between them would disappear, that she could forget Harry slumping lifeless before her. But she couldn’t, not now, and perhaps not ever. The arrow of betrayal was too firmly lodged through her heart, its venom still trickling into her blood.

“I wish… I wish I could give what you deserve.” And she meant every word of it. She’d fought for him and she would continue the battle, even if it were an internal war now.

“I’ll be here.” She tumbled into silver now, unable to look away from those eyes that still meant everything. His lips brushed her cheek, chaste and cool. “I’m so sorry about Luna. I know she was a good friend to you.”

Hermione tensed a moment, the hole in her heart throbbing. When she spoke, her voice was rougher, full of loss. “Thank you. She was.”

She gripped him to her, relishing the crash of his solid frame against her, a flicker of the completion she’d once known. Her lips ghosted across the strong angle of his jaw, platinum stands brushing gently against her skin.

“I’ll be back.”

Silver eyes were dark, full of every emotion she could imagine as he nodded. “I know.”


	20. Nineteen

**~*~ Nineteen ~*~**

 

Ron paced erratically in the confined space of the room at St. Mungo’s. His brilliant blue eyes were fixed on Harry, only occasionally sliding to Hermione as she knelt before the hospital bed, her hand wrapped gently around Harry’s, the cool press of the Resurrection stone separating their palms.

“Is it working?”

She’d lost track of how many times Ron had asked the question since he’d ushered Ginny out of the room despite his sister’s threats of Bat Bogey hexes and bodily harm.

Hermione sighed, staring down at the dull stone. “I don’t think so, but I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do.”

“This was your bloody idea,” Ron whined, a hand rising to clutch at scarlet hair. His pacing didn’t falter a step.

“I am well aware of that, Ronald.” Calm. She needed to remain calm otherwise there was no telling what the Elder wand would release at Ronald Bloody Weasley. “Just because I think the stone can help, doesn’t mean I know exactly how to use it. There isn’t exactly a manual for how to resurrect your not-quite-dead best friend.”

A long suffering sigh came from Ron’s general direction. “I know, ‘Mione. It’s just—“

“Harry. I know. It just might take me longer than one afternoon to figure this out.”

The pacing stopped, if only for a moment. “Sorry. I just really, really need this to work. And yeah, I guess we all really need this to work.”

“I might be able to concentrate better if you waited in the hall.” She cast him an apologetic look. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the support, but I get the feeling this is going to require total concentration.”

Blue eyes flashed between Harry and Hermione before he stiffly nodded. “If you really think it would help.”

“I do.”

Hurt tore briefly across his face, but Ron turned to leave, the door shutting quietly. Taking a deep breath, Hermione turned back to Harry. His skin was warm where their palms met, but his fingers were limp against hers.

The idea was to use the Resurrection stone as a conduit to Harry. She’d thought of it after her conversation with Draco. If the effects of the Hallows were amplified by being the master of all, then perhaps she could reach Harry, even if he wasn’t truly dead. She’d practiced by conjuring Luna again, studying the mechanism until she felt she understood enough to attempt it with Harry. But there was still the matter of Harry still breathing, perhaps not beyond the veil at all.

Hermione closed her eyes, letting the feeling of Harry’s hand fade as she concentrated on her memories of him, times where his smile had lit up the room, times she’d cried on his shoulder, even times where he’d stared at her in utter disgust after he’d learned the truth about Draco.

She held the memories stationary, her breathing fading into the background as the figments of time encompassed her entirely. It was third year, Sirius just found, the time-turner looped about their shoulders as they traveled back together, understanding that salvation was in their hands alone.

“It was the first time I believed I could win. Not just against the Dementors, but against Voldemort himself.”

She whipped around and brilliant green eyes stared back. But they weren’t in the room at St. Mungo’s. Instead, a dimly lit tunnel spread out before her, only the faintest hint of daylight wavering at one of the ends. Harry looked as she remembered him that night in the Forbidden Forest. His shirt was the same deep blue, his jeans smudged with mud in all the same places. He took a step toward her, his hand brushing across her shoulder.

“You are really here, right? I get confused by the memories sometimes, but I don’t ever remember you like this.” He cocked his head to the side, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Like what?”

“So broken.” Harry’s hand dropped away. “Even when Ron and I were complete gits about Malfoy, you never looked this sad. Like you’ve lost something you’ll never get back.”

And she had. Hermione swallowed, tamping down the maelstrom of emotion his words elicited. “Yes, I’m really here.”

“How long has it been?”

“Nearly three months. They’re still trying to decide what to do…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t give voice to the sharp tenor of terror that encompassed those words.

Harry studied her a long moment. “Trying to decide what to do with Draco.” She nodded, the movement cutting deep. He shifted closer again, his hand sliding down her arm, warm and real. “By the time he found me, I already knew.”

Her mouth tasted of ash. Harry had told her he’d taken care of the final Horcrux, that her basilisk fang was unneeded and she had let him go, let him walk to his death. Harry’s smile was wan as he stared down at her. “I would rather it have been Draco than Voldemort.”

Rather fall to an ally than a foe. Her stomach turned, bile rising until she was heaving empty air against the dark stone floor. Hermione wiped dry lips and looked back at him. “Did you know you would die?”

Green misted as he nodded. “I had no idea there was a chance I could survive. The memories Snape had left for me only allowed me to connect the pieces, to understand that the only way to defeat Voldemort was to have the portion of his soul within me seared out.”

Her shoulders continued to shake. He’d walked to his death, without hope of survival, but with faith they would finish the job. Draco’s sudden appearance must have seemed a twisted gift. Harry had never looked away as the Elder wand had hovered at his brow. He had known the price, a different sum than Draco’s bounty, infinitely steeper.

“I assume we killed the bastard.”

She blinked, focus narrowing on the fragile hope behind green eyes. But how could he have known? Trapped in this purgatory, only memories for company. “Yes, we did.”

“Was it Draco?”

“No, me.”

The darkness shifted beneath her skin, a caress of the power she still held, a reminder of the deed and all its scars. Wide green eyes stared, disbelief melting to understanding. “I’m sorry. That was my burden to bear.”

Hermione shook her head, ignoring the shadows within. “I’m glad to have done it.”

“But the price…” He trailed off, a hand burying in unruly black. “It was more than you…”

“You can just say it. I won’t be offended.” And she wouldn’t. She knew how deep those furrows crept into her soul.

Harry sighed and looked toward the dark end of the tunnel where only inky oblivion remained. “He wasn’t worth your soul.”

“He was. His obliteration was worth every scar.” She might know the damage, but a world without that monster was worth that and infinitely more.

Harry only shook his head, eyes still riveted on inky darkness. She watched him stare into the abyss until she too felt its siren call, its promise of infinite silence. Hermione looked away, all too aware of the temptation deep within.

“Did you know Snape was in love with my mother?”

Her pulse skittered as he suddenly faced her. Harry’s emerald eyes were brighter now, as if holding the final piece of a puzzle he’d long labored to solve. She hadn’t had the foggiest idea that Severus Snape loved Lily Evans, but it made sense. He’d told her he wished someone had cared about him as much as she’d cared about Draco. Lily had never loved him, at least not how he must have craved, of that Hermione was certain. But Godric he must have loved her. He had spent his life enslaved to the monster who’d killed her in order to ensure Harry’s survival, that her death would be avenged. Hermione had seen what two years beneath Voldemort’s iron grasp had done to Draco. But a lifetime? She could hardly imagine how Snape had endured.

_I found you._ Draco’s declaration rippled through her, an answer that tugged upon her heartstrings, her breath catching. “But Lily was dead.”

“And he loved her still,” Harry murmured. “I think of all the times I was so sure he was the one trying to hurt me, to give me over to Voldemort. But he was protecting me instead, loving her in the only way he had left. I’m sure he did hate me, with my dad marrying her, but not truly. Not enough to wish me dead, even when he was the one to finally tell me death would be my gift.”

Gift. It was utterly wrong and yet it fit. Through death, Harry had given them all a chance at life. Her mouth tasted of ash once more. “Death is not a gift.”

Knowing green shone down at her. “You also gave the gift of death, Hermione.”

For Harry’s sacrifice would have been nothing without the crack that had saved them all and split her more than she could bear. “Death is not a gift.”

“Lie to yourself if you need, but it won’t change the truth.” Harry’s eyes were back to drowning in that welcoming darkness.

Hermione tore through the web of confusion, beyond the chaos within to face the peril of Harry’s lingering stare. “It’s time to wake up, Harry.”

“So I’m truly not dead.” He seemed surprised. “I thought perhaps you’d found the Resurrection stone.”

“I did,” she admitted. “And the wand and cloak too.”

Amusement tugged at his lips as he turned to face her. “Hermione Granger, Master of Death. Not sure it has the best ring to it.”

“It definitely doesn’t.” But now was no time to be debating semantics. She could see the deep wariness behind those green eyes, the understanding that perhaps total darkness would be welcome, a salvation from this purgatory. “It’s time to wake up. I need you. Ron needs you. Ginny hasn’t left your bedside for months. Ron had to force her out the door to let me even try to get inside your head, or wherever it is we’ve ended up.”

Hermione took his hand and tugged none too gently toward the haunting flicker of light beyond. To her immense relief, Harry followed. They traveled silently, only the scratch of their shoes upon the stone echoing endlessly. The light never seemed to get brighter, but neither did it dim, remaining an elusive flame against the hungry night. But Hermione didn’t break her stride, didn’t look back at Harry. She simply clasped his hand tightly and persevered.

Hours passed, or perhaps seconds. Hermione had the inkling that time was different here, dimensionless and arbitrary. Her body began to ache, the shadows scraping beneath her skin with fury, but she never reached for the wand in her pocket, instead concentrating on the stone between their palms. She could feel its cold circle pressing against her flesh, never warming despite their touch.

“Hermione?”

Her eyes flew open, connecting instantly with wide green, bathed not in insidious darkness, but the dull light of the cloudy afternoon beyond the window at St. Mungo’s.

“Harry!” Ron. He must have returned while she and Harry were beyond time and space. The redhead descended like a tornado, limbs flying akimbo as he grasped Harry. “You’re alive. You’re really bloody alive and you’re the most bloody brilliant woman that ever lived, Hermione.”

The shock of seeing Harry looking back at her, truly sitting up, had her breath catching and then releasing as she took the deepest breath in months. Harry was alive and the dread that had pinned her down every day since she’d seen him collapse to the forest floor, it lifted, not gone, but a mere shadow of its former heft.

“I’m going to remember you said that, Ronald Weasley.” Her voice was light, lighter than it had been in months, even years. As light as the girl laughing between Harry and Ron, Voldemort a mere nightmare yet to be made manifest. Her laughter was a delighted peal as Ron drew her into the embrace, the three of them tumbling across the bed together, a mess of limbs and hope.


	21. Twenty

**~*~ Twenty ~*~**

 

This time, Draco answered her knock upon the gallant knight immediately. The portal swung open, silver eyes drinking her in as if she were an oasis and he’d been lost in the desert sands for eons. Full lips curved into the ghost of a smile as he moved toward her.

Hermione’s breath caught, her pulse suddenly a raging drumbeat beneath her skin. But she didn’t bow to the instinct, the unholy desire to close the gap between them. Instead, she stepped aside, revealing Harry. Draco’s expression instantly shuttered, eyes frosting over before she could say a word.

“Potter.” Draco’s voice was sharp, a far cry from the smooth drawl that sent heat pooling to all the right places.

Harry stared unflinchingly back. “I believe we have something to discuss, Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes flitted to Hermione for the briefest of seconds before he nodded. “Indeed we do.”

Hermione followed Harry into the sitting room, the suede couch weighed down by books once more. Draco gathered a handful of them, unceremoniously dumping them on the coffee table. She sat with Harry in the cleared space while Draco dropped gracefully into an armchair across from them. He looked healthy, better than she’d seen him in years. The platinum hair framing his face was shorter now, falling just below his angled jaw. Where the longer hair had echoed Lucius Malfoy, this new length was roguish, as if he would soon be sailing the high seas with a black flag atop his mast. She shifted, heat stirring. Draco’s focus slanted momentarily to her and silver eyes melted into liquid mercury for an infinite second.

Harry cleared his throat and Hermione became distinctly aware of the flush rising on her cheeks. But she couldn’t look way from those arresting eyes. Harry shifted beside her and Draco reluctantly dragged his incendiary gaze away.

“I want to start by saying I already know why you did it,” Harry began. “I’d found Snape’s memories before I went into the forest; I knew the final Horcrux was inside me.”

The muscles of Draco’s jaw relaxed a hair. “I wasn’t sure you knew, but when you didn’t seem surprised I guessed.”

“I’d seen Snapes’s memories.” Harry swallowed, expression clouding. “I wasn’t in time to save him, Voldemort had already made sure of that, but I was in time for him to give me the truth.”

“About the final Horcrux.” Silver eyes focused just beyond Harry, not quite able to meet the stare of the man he’d killed.

“About that, but also about my mother. Snape loved her; loved her so bloody much he pledged himself to Voldemort to ensure the destruction of the monster who’d taken her from him.”

Hermione barely heard the final words Harry murmured. She was lost in the intensity of Draco’s stare, his focus suddenly acute and unyielding. Her heart pounded, a raging stampede of emotion tearing through her. Draco had given everything for her. She could hardly deny that. His jaw trembled as he continued to look at her. To look at her like she was everything he could ever desire, as if she was the only water left on Earth, as if he could not imagine a world without her. Her breath caught in her throat as she drowned in those unspoken promises, as the urge to cross the distance between them grew unbearable.

But she did not move, could not move despite every truth written within those silver eyes. The darkness stirred beneath her skin and she focused on Harry again.

There was a crease between Harry’s brows, his eyes flitting between them, but he did not ask the questions she could see in his luminous eyes. Instead, he asked softly, as if unsure of how to put voice to the words, “How did it end?”

That clearing so full of despair overwhelmed her senses for a moment, the sound of Draco’s agony still imprinted on her soul. “Badly.”

“For Voldemort.” Draco voice was brittle and cold.

“For all of us,” Hermione insisted, unwilling to allow the magnitude of suffering to go unspoken. “When Voldemort killed Snape, he also was able to break into part of his mind. He knew that Draco was a traitor, so when he brought your…” The lump in her throat was almost too large to swallow. “… your body to the meeting place, Voldemort turned on him.”

Harry’s gaze flashed toward Draco and lingered for a long moment. “That can’t have been pleasant.”

“It wasn’t.” Draco’s stare tore through her, his jaw tense once more.

Hermione held his gaze as she continued. “When it got to be too much, when I couldn’t take one more second of it, I realized what had to be done. And I did it.”

She saw the pain flash through those silver eyes just before he turned away. The understanding of what it meant to cleave oneself in service to a greater cause. Harry’s eyes were soft now, softer than she’d ever seen, as he grasped her hand in his, warm palm chasing away the chill of the memories.

“I can never thank either of you enough.” Harry’s hand tightened gently about hers. “Both of you made this victory happen, finally erased him from existence, and that debt will never be repaid. I’ve already talked to Moody and Shacklebolt at the Ministry. All pending charges have been dropped against you, Draco.”

Silver eyes widened a minute fraction, impossible to notice unless you knew every pane of his face. Draco was silent, simply staring at Harry for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice was brighter, an echo of the boy at the cottage by the sea. “All of them?”

“All. Moody also transferred all authority on the Lucius Malfoy case to you. Your father’s fate is in your hands.”

The frost was immediate, Draco’s voice instantly hard again. “I want nothing to do with my father, Potter.”

Harry shrugged, a wry smile growing on his lips. “I can understand that, but it was what the ministry wanted, with you a war hero now.”

Hermione’s hand slipped from Harry’s grasp as she turned on him. “Please tell me you didn’t give them the true story.”

Green eyes sparkled in a mischievous way that had her stomach turning over. “Only the good bits. I thought it was high time I had some company in the limelight.”

“Potter,” Draco’s voice was deep growl. “Please tell you’re joking or else I might just kill you again.”

A brilliant smile spilled across Harry’s lips now, all effort at hiding his delight abandoned. “Not a joke at all. You’ll have to get used to it. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, saviors of the Wizarding World.”

It was perhaps the first time she’d heard her name beside Draco’s in a tone that wasn’t condescending or disgusted. It was odd to hear them linked together, to experience the syllables said with such ease and joy. Her focus narrowed to Draco’s face. He seemed as unsettled as she felt, his features lacking the hard angles they’d held just moments before. When their eyes met, a deep longing washed over her and she had to look away. The scars were too deep to accept the thrill behind Harry’s words, to cross that abyss that still loomed between them.

Harry squeezed her shoulder as he rose to his feet. “I’m good, but I think you two might need some time to process your new fame.”

The impish delight had faded from those brilliant eyes, leaving somber green. She resisted the urge to squirm at the knowing look, the tired sympathy that remained. Harry knew enough, but he had never stood with the Elder wand between his fingers, had never crossed that terrible line that could never be uncrossed. No matter what he’d experienced in that purgatory of memory and regret, it would never match that moment of green stealing so little and yet so much.

The portal shut with a soft thud behind Harry, leaving them alone. Hermione could hear the sound of her breath, far more winded than reasonable for simply sitting on a couch. Draco shifted across from her, his legs uncrossing, the chair softly groaning as he rose. She tracked the progress of his trainers until they came to rest directly in front of her. And even then, it took all her energy to finally look up at him.

His arms were crossed, pulling the pale silver button-up taut across his chest. Her eyes lingered where the shirt disappeared into smart black trousers that hugged his hips in a way that made her mouth dry. Still cataloging every tantalizing line of his lithe form, she dragged her gaze upward to meet those unbearable silver eyes.

Every emotion that had hidden behind frost with Harry had broken free. His stare promised everything, begged for her to surrender, to annihilate the space between. He didn’t move a muscle as their eyes locked, a battle of souls and wills. She wanted what he offered. Wanted it more than she craved spring buds in the depths of winter, more than the oxygen filling her lungs. Every sharp angle of him was a missile to her soul, a reminder of what she could be, of what she desired more than anything, so much that her whole body ached with the need. Her pulse was a thunderstorm against her skin, her breath a crashing tidal wave.

One of his hands extended toward her, perilously close to her flushed cheek. The rotten fear stirred within her, the slither of reality chasing away the heat with icy tentacles. She was on the other side of the room in an instant, books flying in her wake.

“I can’t.” The words were strangled, the most she could offer beneath the deluge of darkness creeping beneath her skin.

The life in Draco’s eyes dimmed, flickering until there was nothing but silver, neither frozen nor luminous. Her chest constricted until she could hardly bear it, but she stayed still, not daring to move a muscle. He didn’t approach her. “I… understand.”

And he did. He did understand the unyielding emptiness that clung to her and invaded every facet of Hermione until there was only loss. But that was only part of the distance between them. She knew why he’d enacted the plan, saw how it had ensured the outcome they’d both desired, but still she could not forget the cold fingers twisting about her heart as Harry fell between them. Even with Harry alive, well in ways she’d have never imagined, betrayal still polluted her veins, a relentless throb with every beat of her heart.

“I…”

But there were no words to describe the chaos within, no flimsy excuse to justify her refusal. He meant everything to her and yet she could not cross the room. It was like being torn apart again, but in an intimate way tailored to maximize the agony, a pain that only ever could be hers.

“It’s okay.” Draco’s voice was soft, a balm against every facet of her struggle. “You waited for me; I can wait for you. However long you need. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, the magnitude of his promise far from lost on her. Mothballs coated her throat as she swallowed, wishing desperately for something just beyond her reach. He sank onto the couch, his posture deflating as he hung his head back, eyes knitted shut and throat working silently. Platinum strands fell against the dark suede, an ethereal halo making him painfully angelic. Her angel, the manifestation of everything she could have imagined and more. But now she was the fallen, cast out of Eden by circumstance and oh so far away from salvation.

Her hands twisted in front of her, nails scraping lightly against calloused skin. Hermione forced breath in and out of her lungs until she could almost pretend she was fine, until he was merely a boy on a couch and she could ignore the throb of her chest and scream of her soul.

“Did you mean what you said about your father?” It was innocuous enough, far away from the fragile strands stretched taut between them.

One eye cracked open as incredulity ghosted across his stark features. “Really?” The other eye followed suit as he tilted his head to face her. “If you must know, yes. I hardly want to see the man, let alone determine his fate.”

“What do you think he deserves?”

Draco’s expression went blank. “What does it matter?”

She sighed, taking a tentative step back towards him. “I’d like to know.”

“What do you think?” He turned the question on its head, eyes darkening.

If she expected him to answer, it was only fair she did as well. Her tongue felt thick as she began. “I think he was mistaken about a great many things. He purposely used both you and your mother as pawns in his game with Voldemort. But I don’t think he did it maliciously. He must have genuinely thought he’d chosen the right side to put either of you at such risk. I think he isn’t half as intelligent as his son and lacks the empathy necessary to participate in society.” Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she crafted her final words. “I believe he deserves a lifetime in Azkaban, but not the Dementor’s Kiss. His punishment is to realize what he lost.”

Draco was silent, her declaration filling the space between them. Cool silver peered up at her as he finally nodded. “Then that’s what he’ll receive.”

“But you were supposed to tell me…”

“I’ve promised you many things, Hermione, but that was not one of them.”

She broke their stare, attempting to hide the hurt surely brimming in her eyes. But he had promised so much more than his opinion of his father and she had no leg to stand on now, not across the room from him, not after she had walked away.

“Fine,” she allowed, focusing on the titles of the books on the table between them. _A Study Into the Possibility of Reversing the Actual and Metaphysical Effects of Natural Death, with Particular Regard to the Reintegration of Essence and Matter_ caught her eye. She blinked, her blood turning to an icy trickle. “You can’t seriously have that book.”

He followed the direction of her stare, eyes going suddenly frigid as they alit upon the book in question. “Are you still seeing Riddle?”

In every dark corner and even in the light now. She’d seen him just the other day as she’d tended the newest crop of Bubotubers in Professor Sprout’s greenhouse. The late summer sun had been brilliant against the frosted windows, but there he had been, staring across the plants with a smile that sent chills down her spine.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Draco sighed, sitting up and grasping the book. “We need to start considering the possibly that Riddle had more Horcruxes or that he managed to find another foothold in this world. And that means reading the same books he did, finding out every scrap of knowledge we might have missed before.”

She shifted uneasily on her feet. His logic was sound, but putting voice to the suspicions was nearly more than she could bear. Voldemort had already taken so much from all of them. If he wasn’t truly gone? If the war wasn’t won at all? She couldn’t quite force herself to consider the possibilities.

“I could talk to him.”

Silver turned dark as he surged to his feet. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ve talked to him before,” Hermione argued, closing the distance between them. “It may be the only way to figure out what has happened. I don’t think what is happening to him, to me, is in any book at all.”

It hurt to admit, but she was confident in her assertion. This was some side effect of the Hallows that none of the books had even hinted at. Indeed, there seemed to be no record of the Hallows ever being possessed by one person. Even in the myth, the brothers had only mastered one apiece. Perhaps she was the first one, besides death himself, to harbor all. Although Dumbledore had been in possession of two of the three at multiples points in time, it seemed all three were necessary to tear down the veil and unleash hell on earth.

“The risk is too—“

“The risk of not trying is greater still.”

They were chest to chest now, his hair brushing against her cheek as his pulse danced beneath pale skin. Her focus skittered up to his eyes, away from the alluring flesh. Heat had consumed any trace of ice in those silver orbs.

His breath was sweet against her lips as he growled, “I will not allow it.”

Her teeth ground. “You are not, nor have you ever been, the boss of me, Draco Malfoy.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he hissed, his lips nearly brushing hers.

“It’s the only way.” She could feel the heat of him branding her skin, tantalizing her, begging her to submit.

“Stop trying to be a bloody martyr.”

“You’re one to talk,” Hermione snapped back.

He reared back as if slapped, silver eyes wide in a way that tore through her, making her regret every syllable that had passed her lips. Draco took an unsteady step away from her, reaching blindly for the couch behind him. He collapsed onto it, all fight evaporating from his limbs. “What a bloody sorry pair we are.”

A bitter laugh tore from her lips. “Indeed.”

Shattered silver peered up at her. “Promise you’ll be careful. I can even come with you if you’d like, now that these rooms are back to simply being the Head Boy’s quarters and not some invisible jail cell.”

“I’m not sure Riddle will talk to me if you’re there. Or anyone else. He likes to prey on the weak, so the more tentative and fragile I seem, the more likely he’ll be to share something he shouldn’t.”

“Just promise me then.”

And how could she deny him this, after all she’d withheld? “Of course. I’ll let you know as soon as I speak with him.”

Draco nodded, platinum fringe obscuring his grave stare, if only for a moment. “Does Potter know?”

Hermione shook her head. “I thought it best not to tell him until I’d confirmed Riddle was a threat. He just returned from death, or something terribly like it, and I can’t bring myself to tell him the war may not be over.” She could barely stand to say the words to Draco, who already knew all the shattered pieces of her soul.

Strong hands clasped hers as he drew her to stand in the vee of his legs. “Promise me you won’t take a single unnecessary risk.”

Her throat worked silently, unable to voice the lie. She would be careful, but she could not tell him peril would not follow her at every step.

“Hermione…”

That desperate voice, so full of salvation, utterly impossible to refuse. Her eyes slid shut as she tightened her grip on his warm hands. “I promise.”

Hermione backed away from Draco before he could read the truth in her expression, backed away until the portal was closing behind her and moisture limned her eyes. He was chaos within her soul and she could not bear another lie between them. The climb to Gryffindor Tower was long, each step away from his door another weight upon her straining shoulders.


	22. Twenty One

**~*~ Twenty One ~*~**

 

The taste of salt suffused the air, each breath the flavor of the ocean. The crashing waves on the cliffs below were a wild background to the solemn gathering, a lament of the sea. Hermione stared down at those foaming crests, nearly turquoise beneath the brilliant sun. It was the last breath of summer, one of those final days where the sky clung to the deepest blues and the trees trembled on a soft breeze. It was a day where life rejoiced, ever aware of the coming autumn, the death so soon to follow as winter swallowed the land.

Hermione caressed the chipping limestone beside her, letting a bit of the brittle rock tumble over the edge and into the melee below. Her toes hovered inches from the ragged edge as she sat cross-legged atop the perilous cliff. She could hear the conversations in the background, just able to make out the peal of Harry’s laughter as he listened to Ron somewhere closer to the pristine white chairs they’d sat in during the ceremony.

She hazarded a glance back toward the land, noting the brilliant shine of Draco’s hair as he talked with Shacklebolt and Andromeda. It had been a small gathering, mostly Order members and ministry officials with the odd exception of Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. The two had been cleared of charges by the ministry some months ago. It turned out they’d both been all talk and no action, a fact that kept them from the gates of Azkaban, unlike so many of their friends and relatives.

She’d seen the tension in Draco’s jaw when he’d spotted them, walking slowly toward the gathering, dressed in the dour black the occasion required. He’d given them a weak smile, but hadn’t spoken a word to either before or after the ceremony. Blaise and Pansy had left quickly, perhaps sensing their presence was not as welcome as they’d assumed. But how could they have known? They’d known the cruel boy he’d played, not the tortured man beneath. How strange it must have been for them to see Hermione by his side, his fingers sliding through hers as the casket was lowered into the barren earth.

And that comfort, she had been unable to deny him that. They’d seen each other since the night in his suite, but only simple conversation and pleasantries had passed between them. She’d not had the chance, or perhaps more accurately the mettle, to call upon Tom Riddle and Draco seemed to be taking great pains to give her the space she desired. So they sat together at meals, each lost in their own book, taking comfort in the presence of the other, but not daring to ask anything more.

Hermione hadn’t been surprised when he’d told her the plan for Narcissa’s funeral, which could finally go forward now that he wasn’t confined to the halls of Hogwarts. The ministry had returned Malfoy Manor to him and he’d promptly given it back. She couldn’t blame him; there was nothing but suffering reverberating through those dark halls. He owned the cottage by the sea now, but had chosen to stay at Hogwarts, at least until McGonagall decided when they would reopen. So Draco continued to occupy the Head Boy’s suite, a twisted gift turned into a refuge now.

His father’s sentence, the very same words she’d spoken, had been carried out a week before. One night at dinner she’d asked if he wanted to visit Lucius one last time. Silver eyes had turned to stone in an instant and his mouth had lifted in a shadow of a sneer, the result eerily similar to the only expression she’d ever seen on Lucius Malfoy. He hadn’t visited and Lucius had been locked away, luckier than many of the others rounded up in the months after Voldemort had ceased. While neither Harry, Ron or Hermione had supported it, the kiss had been given to many of those silver masked fools.

The Prophet had run a piece giving the full story, without any of the torture and broken souls and Horcruxes. After that she’d gotten letters, hundreds of them, all thanking her for eliminating He Who Must Not Be Named. She’d read them aloud once, when she’d noticed Riddle peering at her from across the library. It had given her a perverse delight to watch the ire burn in those crystalline eyes of his. Unwise? Certainly, but she didn’t regret one moment of it.

Letters to Draco arrived too, but he’d not opened a single one. As they continued to pile up, he’d taken to burning them upon arrival. A part of her, the old Hermione that balked at breaking rules and lacking proper decorum, flinched every time he burned one. But the larger part of her wished she had the same resolve. After all, she was being thanked for the very act that had left her irreparably scarred.

“Knut for your thoughts?”

Hermione blinked at Andromeda as the older woman lowered herself to the ground, lilac dress spreading across white rock. They’d spoken a few times when Hermione had been locked away at Grimmauld Place and several more during the funeral today, but never with any gravity.

Andromeda smiled kindly at her, just the barest hint of wrinkles creasing her eyes. “My sister would have loved this. The coast was always her favorite place, even when we were younger. The minute the roar of the waves could be heard, she’d relax, as if finding peace. And I don’t blame her. It was unpleasant enough at home with our parents and Bellatrix.”

“Was it… hard growing up with that?” Hermione had never truly thought about either Andromeda or Narcissa’s childhoods and certainly not Bellatrix’s.

“Bloody awful.” Andromeda’s eyes lost focus as she stared out at the endless sea. “Cissy and I didn’t have the cruel genes, but we lived in a household where weakness was a blight to be stamped out at every turn. I fled as soon as I could, but Cissy found a way to survive.” Her gaze shifted to focus on Draco behind them, now talking with Harry and Ron. “Lucius wasn’t always the man became. Cissy genuinely loved him and he loved her too, went weak at the knees at the very sight of her. But then Voldemort ensnared him and that happiness was stripped away until there was only a man serving a monster.”

How different it might have been if Lucius and Narcissa hadn’t been caught in that fatal web. She’d talked with Draco about might have been, back when they were still so naïve, when they’d felt the whole world was fated to turn against them. But she understood now that fate was myth and the world held no master plan. Pain and joy came in equal measure, leaving their unique scars upon her. The joy of Luna’s laugh burned as strong as the bite of any spell.

“I’ve seen how he looks at you.” His aunt’s words were soft as she turned to Hermione again. “Most of the time he’s a blank, lacking even the slightest hint of emotion, but when he sees you, he’s suddenly alive.”

“I love him,” Hermione admitted, her breath catching as she forced the words out. “I’ve loved him for a very long time.”

“But?”

Hermione rubbed a hand across her throbbing temple. “But there are things between us now. Things I wish I could forget and forgive, but I can’t. I can’t look at him and not feel that pain…”

Andromeda sighed. “I’m not the word’s expert on love, not even close, but I think with a love as strong as yours there must be a way back to each other.”

“As strong…?” Hermione couldn’t quite understand what the older woman meant.

A smile tugged at her lips. “Not every love is epic, Hermione. Most of us never do anything but love truly and passionately. But what’s between the two of you, even with this distance, it seems epic, the type of love they write bloody ballads about. You’ve both put your lives on the line for the other. You’ve done things that haunt you, both of you, if only to save the other. I cajoled the truth out of Harry one night when he was staying with us. You were the reason Draco didn’t simply become another Death Eater and in that final battle, you had the courage to save him at the expense of something very dear.”

Hermione’s eyes angled toward Andromeda, searching her features. Could she truly understand the price of the killing curse? “I did what I had to. To save all of us.”

“But most of all to save him.” There was something elusive in that knowing look, something that told Hermione she still hadn’t put all the pieces together.

“But he killed Harry and he lied to us about his plan.” She sounded plaintive and shrill.

Andromeda’s eyes remained kind. “That is true, but you have to ask why? What was his intention?” She clasped a hand around Hermione’s. “You aren’t going to figure this out overnight. All I’m saying is don’t give up on him.”

No matter how much the wound festered, Hermione had to admit she couldn’t let go. She’d taken a step back, walked away even, but never had she given up. With Riddle still on the horizon and Draco the only one she could trust with that particular truth, she needed him still. And yet despite that trust, there were fragments of her soul that had yet to make peace with his actions, no matter his intentions.

“I won’t. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.” Hermione studied him, still standing with Harry as ministry officials said their goodbyes. Her eyes roamed over his angled features, drinking him in. “He’s under my skin and there’s no getting him out.”

“But there’s something else there too.” Andromeda’s smile was wistful as she squeezed Hermione’s hand before rising slowly to her feet. “Give it time, Hermione.”

Hermione couldn’t speak around the lump that had lodged itself in her throat, so she nodded and watched silently as Draco’s aunt crossed the distance to him, pressing a kiss against his pale cheek before linking arms with her daughter and departing. When she looked back to the boys, Draco was staring at her. She looked back, unblinking and utterly lost, wanting more than ever to simply surrender to those silver eyes.

He didn’t break their stare as he excused himself to Harry and Ron. And then he was standing in front of her, his lithe frame sinking to the chalky earth beside her. She could feel the heat of him despite the gap between them, was instantly aware of every breath he took, of the way his eyes slid from her face, accounting for every millimeter of her before returning to take her breath away.

“You seemed to get on with Aunt Andromeda.” It wasn’t a question. His focus shifted to the crashing waves below them. “I expected you would. She’s the intelligent one the Black side of the family. Got out before it all swallowed her whole.”

“I can’t imagine growing up with Bellatrix for a sister.” Just the thought of Bellatrix at all did unpleasant things to her stomach, her arm suddenly raw beneath the knotted scar. It was a cruel mixture of hatred and regret, the Killing Curse all tangled up with the Crutiatus.

She could feel Draco shudder beside her. “I suppose I should be thankful I’m an only child.”

“I’m glad you’ve gotten to know the rest of your family.” The only family he had left now with his mother in the ground beside them and his father wasting away in the depths of Azkaban.

“Better late than never,” he quipped, but she could see the shadows gather in his eyes, knew the pain he hid was likely greater than she could imagine.

Hermione placed a hand on his arm, the mere touch sending sparks across her fingers. She pushed the rising desire aside, saying instead, “You seem to be getting on well with Harry and Ron.”

He stared at her hand for a long moment before replying. “Potter isn’t nearly as bad as I’d imagined. I can’t exactly say the same of Weasley.”

She huffed as laughter threated to escape her lips. “Ron is an acquired taste. I hated his guts first year.”

“You should’ve trusted your instincts.”

She smacked him, eliciting an amused grunt. “Draco!”

But he just smiled down at her, the type of smile that stole her breath away, that transcended time and made her heart tremble and ache in impossible, wonderful ways. His angled features were painfully handsome, silver eyes alight with joie de vivre, no trace of frost or shadow. She wanted to pull him to her, to taste that enticing smile, to feel the curve of his lips against her flushed cheek. She wanted this moment to last.

His forehead brushed against hers, stands of platinum teasing her skin. “Hermione…”

His voice was rough and deep, full of longing and loss, hope and fear. Everything between them distilled down to one arresting word, her name. She let him tangle his hands in her hair, let his lips slide softly across hers. Hermione tasted every secret hidden behind those silver eyes, the cuts within his soul that only she could mend. She opened her mouth to him and let the barrage of desire crash over her, unbridled need infusing his every caress.

They were both breathless when she finally pulled away. The darkness beneath her skin, the fear that strangled her, held at bay, if only for this moment. Her pulse was wild against her throat, the memories of his skin against hers sending a tsunami of raw desire through her. Her fingers tightened in the soft hair at the base of his skull, nails digging gently into his skin.

A peal of familiar laughter stole the moment from her. She caught Harry’s eyes, emerald simmering with delight as he stared back at her. When she looked back at Draco, the smile was gone, his face an impenetrable façade once more. Unpleasant hippogriffs stirred in her gut.

“Draco… I…”

“Still need more time.” His head hung, silver eyes shuttered as they observed the waves below.

Hermione sighed, at once angry with herself for allowing him that moment of hope and frustrated that she seemed incapable of moving beyond the pain cleaving through her. How long would it be before that moment in the forest ceased to haunt her, no longer drove a wedge between them?

“I told you I’d wait,” he murmured, words barely audible over the crashing waves.

And so they sat, not quite touching, the heat of him suffusing every facet of her, until the sun sank below the horizon and the glittering stars danced in the heavens above. Until she lay back on the hard stone and watched the constellations gyrate across the sky as she wished upon every falling star. Until he stood, hand warm on hers and guided her to the bed within that cottage on the cliff. Until sleep took them both, his hand wound tightly about hers.


	23. Twenty Two

**~*~ Twenty Two ~*~**

 

The library was quiet, the type of quiet that sent chills echoing though your bones and shivers down your spine. Perhaps the eerie quality arose from the absence of any life at all. The opening date for Hogwarts had yet to be set, but it was to be another year at least before the school could welcome a new cohort of wide-eyed children. Fixing the façade had been one thing, scouring away the memories was something else entirely.

Hermione trailed a hand along the spines of the books in the Restricted Section, her own memories brushing against her skin. It had been here, in another lifetime entirely, that she and Draco had first begun this steady decent into insanity. With her blood on his shirt and madness in her eyes, the first crack in her soul made manifest. The very fibers of her being trembled as she remembered his appalled stare as she dragged her bloody hands across his chest, sending them both careening on a path so full of anguish, of loss, of utter lunacy.

And despite the pain that nearly strangled her now, she would not change a thing. Those impenetrable silver eyes and cruel sneer had merely been a mask and when her blood soaked through to his skin, he’d finally begun to reveal his true form, become something so essential to her she could not imagine a world without him. He’d changed her in more ways than she could name, in ways so fundamental she could not even identify the differences now. He had taken nearly everything, but he’d also returned it all, as best he could in this broken world that held them in its infernal palm.

She paused in front of the stepladder and pulled the Resurrection stone from her pocket, carefully folding back the handkerchief to reveal the onyx stone. She hadn’t touched it since they’d figured out it was a conduit to Riddle and she’d successfully guided Harry home, but that hadn’t stopped the specter of him from lurking just beyond every corner, dark eyes a promise of retribution. After a month of watching fall devour summer, she was finally ready to face him.

The stone was cool beneath her fingers as she murmured, “Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

The library lapsed into absolute silence for a heartbeat and then he spoke. “At last we meet, Hermione Granger.”

Hermione turned to watch him stride from behind the shelf devoted to dark incantations. He was cloyingly handsome with those full lips turned up into a smile that chilled her blood. She still could barely imagine how he’d become the monster that stole everything from her.

“You’ve been watching me.” There was no accusation in her tone; they were both aware of his unearthly presence. “Why?”

Tom’s smile grew as he closed the distance between them. He was tall, taller than Draco by perhaps a centimeter or two. She had to look up to see those dark, infinite eyes staring down at her. “In your… destruction of my corporeal body, it seems you opened another door. I owe you a debt of gratitude in fact.”

Hermione swallowed, the metallic tang of fear spreading across her tongue. “Helped you?”

He was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body beneath his robes, outdated Slytherin by the look of them. It seemed utterly impossible that he could be so… alive.

“When you killed that pathetic creature claiming to be Voldemort, armed with every Hallow, you created a fissure in the veil. Not for any other spirits, but for me. I’d been waiting, watching my future self make all the wrong choices, useless as a blind house elf. I was even prepared to accept his destruction, if only to stop the utter idiocy, but then that crack appeared and I knew it wasn’t over, not if I could make the crossing.” He leaned into her, his lips a chilled brand as they caressed her cheek. “Thank you, Hermione Granger, for saving me.”

Hermione stumbled away, heedless of anything but the desire to put as much distance between them as possible. Those lips had been damnably real, proof beyond measure of what she’d unleashed. “Who are you? You’re not a Horcrux fragment are you?”

“Smart girl.” His grin turned predatory, handsome features pulling into something dark and cruel. “I’m nothing like those disgusting pieces he scattered across the continent. You could say I’m an echo, produced when he first turned his wand to destruction with the murder of our father. And since he scattered the rest of himself to the four winds, you could also say I am the only real Tom Marvolo Riddle and I have been waiting a great many years to find this opportunity.”

She concentrated on his words, on the puzzle he was deciphering, not on the panic rising within her, begging her to run. “So you’re not Voldemort?”

He gave an indolent shrug. “I am perhaps the only true manifestation of that name. But I’ve not warped my soul with endless cleaving and destruction, so I care not whether you call me Tom or Voldemort. My power is unrivaled under either name.”

Her skin crawled as she watched those pale hands rest upon the Resurrection stone. “Don’t touch that.”

To her surprise he released the stone to the stepladder once more. “It is useless to me anyway. My ability to manifest is rooted in your possession of the Hallows, Hermione, not mine. Not that I wouldn’t be interested in collecting them for myself…” His gaze flitted to the wand in her hand.

“It’s not here.”

“I know. You locked it in your trunk before you came to the library. Smart girl.” He sighed and moved toward her again. “As long as you are the master of all three, I promise I will bring you no harm. Even I am unsure of the magic that brought me here. I know little except it flows through you.”

“I’ll destroy them.” She spat the words, a defense against his twisted smile.

“Unlike the flimsy Horcruxes, the Hallows are unable to be destroyed. Hidden perhaps, but never truly destroyed. They are Death’s own creation, not wrought by mortal hands. And where they go, the veil continues to part for me.”

Riddle was a breath away now. Hermione glared up into those dark eyes that swirled with something not quite human, something feral and utterly fatal. “Then I’ll scatter them to ends of the Earth.”

“It might work, or it might not.” He slumped casually against the bookcase beside her, their shoulders barely brushing. “I honestly don’t know the magic. But I’ve seen that gleam in your eye, Hermione Granger, and know you won’t part from your precious Hallows. You like the power they give you, that heady power that assures you victory.”

“I don’t enjoy war or battle or killing,” she hissed.

“Don’t lie to yourself, love. Of course you do.” His breath was cool against her ear. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy letting it all go and watching that pathetic fool turn to dust.”

She had. She’d relished every second of that explosion of green. But she hadn’t enjoyed the aftermath or the empty pit in her stomach that never faded. Riddle was wrong about her lust for destruction. “I did what I had to do. To save the people I love, not because I enjoyed it. I hated it and that hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Continue to lie to yourself, it matters little to me.”

His chilling breath retreated and she was finally able to suck a shuddering breath into her lungs. “If you’re so all powerful now, why haven’t you nicked a wand and gone off to perform your evil deeds elsewhere?”

“You truly think I’m evil?” His laugh was still the shattering of glass. “I’m hardly evil, Hermione. Ambitious? Absolutely, but hardly evil. And as for your question, I gain strength with each passing day, become more firmly entrenched in this plane. But my strength is not yet at its peak and I am content to wait just awhile longer. I have waited so long already, another day or month or year hardly matter.”

“Even if you are linked to me, as you say, why stay at Hogwarts? Can you not leave my side?”

The sudden silence between them was telling. So he was limited, he needed her and the Hallows to exist and that meant there was a way to destroy him, to take the foundation of his magic away.

“Do not make plans you will regret.”

The words were razor sharp, but she smiled as she turned to face him. “We may be trapped together now, Riddle, but mark my words, I will not have you as a shadow forever. I’ve destroyed you once; I can do it again.”

“And you say you have no taste for destruction.”

She met his words with a chilling smile of her own. “I said I don’t like it. I never said I wasn’t good at it.”

Hermione turned on her heel and pocketed the Resurrection stone as she strode out of the library. Her heart was pounding out of her chest as she threw open the castle doors, the autumn sun a welcome warmth against her chilled flesh.

So their suspicions had been correct; Riddle walked amongst them once more. A different, less mad version, but no less dangerous. He’d made no move to hurt her, but that stemmed from her status as his magical anchor, not any good will. He’d avoided the other occupants of the castle entirely, so perhaps he was still tightly bound to her presence. But from what he’d insinuated, that tether would not hold him forever. Once he’d gained his full strength there was no telling the destruction he would wreak upon them all. They had to act swiftly before the consequences became uncontrollable.


	24. Twenty Three

**~*~ Twenty Three ~*~**

 

It was less odd than it ought to have been to see Draco sitting across from her in the Gryffindor common room, hair contrasting starkly with the copious amount of gold filigree. Harry slouched in an armchair adjacent to Draco’s, curious green eyes darting between them.

Hermione shifted on the sofa, not entirely sure how to begin. She’d relayed her conversation with Riddle to Draco earlier in the day. His silver eyes had frozen solid at her revelation that Riddle was no mere specter conjured by her guilt and fear. She supposed she ought to be relieved that she hadn’t been summoning him at all, but the truth made any relief impossible. It would have been preferable for her mind to have some hang up on him rather than the real man able to appear at will beside her. Even here, in the comforting warmth of the Gryffindor Tower she could not be sure he wasn’t lurking just beyond the next door, listening to every word they spoke despite the _muffliato_.

She’d contacted Harry soon afterward though the floo at Grimmauld Place. The castle residents had been reduced to Hermione, Draco and McGonagall in the weeks since they’d gathered at Narcissa’s funeral. Even Draco disappeared more often than not, doing his best to make amends and restore what he could to the Malfoy name. Harry had moved into his inheritance, taking Ron and Ginny along. He’d invited Hermione to visit, but she’d yet to work up the nerve. Indeed, it seemed lucky she hadn’t now that she understood the unholy binding to Riddle. She would absolutely not take him into Harry’s house, not after everything they’d already endured.

Hermione glanced at Draco. Unflinching steel shone back at her, a promise she did not take lightly. Taking a fortifying breath she focused on Harry. “I have some bad news… We thought when we destroyed the Horcruxes and I killed Voldemort that would be the end of Tom Riddle.” Her teeth cut painfully into her lip. “That isn’t exactly true.”

A wild gleam descended into Harry’s eyes. “What exactly are you saying?”

“She’s saying Riddle found a way back from the dead. Again.” The words were matter of fact, devoid of any intonation, but still capable of sending dread coursing through her already chilled veins.

Harry’s jaw twitched. “How?”

“When I killed Voldemort I… opened the veil, just the slightest bit and only for Riddle. Riddle thinks it has something to do with my possession of all the Hallows. I thought for the longest time I was seeing him because of the Resurrection stone, but it’s more permanent than that.” She could see the panic stretching across Harry’s features. “Right now he’s tied to me and the Hallows, but that won’t always be true. There will come a time he doesn’t need me and then he could take possession of the Hallows himself and complete the… transition.”

“The way you’re talking Hermione… have you actually spoken with him?” Harry’s tone was incredulous and she couldn’t fault him. The whole situation was insane, let alone the bone chilling conversation in the library.

“I used the stone to force him into a conversation. He’d been lurking around me for months, following me wherever I went, but we hadn’t really spoken. But I’d seen Luna and I contacted you so I wondered if the stone might be a conduit to him as well. I’m not actually sure it was, but he chose to speak with me when I asked.” Speaking to the dead, accidently resurrecting a mass murderer. Some moments she could hardly believe it was true, but the stir of the darkness beneath her skin and the vivid ache of memories assured Hermione it was all too real.

Green eyes blinked slowly at her, digesting the implications of her words. “So some fragment of Riddle’s soul managed to sneak back through?”

“He told me he wasn’t a Horcrux fragment, but an echo of the first time Voldemort cast the killing curse and I believe him. The monster we knew was unhinged, obsessed with killing you and wreaking havoc wherever he went. This Riddle is… calm, calculating and patient.”

“In other words,” Draco interjected, “A million times worse. The monster we took down had very little intelligence left, only an unquenchable thirst for power. He’d split his soul so many times he was hardly alive and certainly not human. From what Hermione has told me, this version is infinitely more dangerous. This is the Tom Riddle that pried the notion of Horcruxes out of Slughorn and tricked the ministry into thinking Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets. He’s cunning in ways Voldemort never was.”

An image of Riddle’s cruel smile contorting those handsome features flashed across Hermione’s vision. “And charming. The bastard’s bloody handsome too. Every time I look at him I remind myself he’s a cold blooded killer since he certainly doesn’t look the part.”

Not that there was any issue once Riddle opened his mouth or stood beside her. Not even Draco at his cruelest had made her blood sour like Riddle could. She could sense the malevolence lurking just beneath the surface of that pleasant face and fathomless eyes. Whatever good might have existed within Tom Riddle had been gone by the time he took his father’s life and this echo harbored no redeeming qualities.

Harry nodded slowly, eyes glazing over. “I remember meeting him in the Chamber of Secrets second year. I was so sure he was going to save me right up until he summoned the basilisk. He was compelling in his younger years, able to make people turn the other way. Slughorn protected that memory for years because he couldn’t bear to know that Riddle had used his knowledge to such horrific ends. I can’t help but wonder if he would have been more successful without the Horcruxes. Not that I want to find out…”

“I’m fairly certain the current version of Riddle is more potent than ever. He said he’d been waiting for this moment for years. And he doesn’t care about you at all, Harry. I’ve been with you loads since he tore through the veil and he hasn’t made a single move against you or any of us. He’s not interested in petty revenge.” Hermione rubbed a hand across her temple. “And the prophecy doesn’t mean anything anymore. Both of you have died in one way or another.”

Harry nodded, expression going unnervingly blank for a long moment. Finally, he looked back at Hermione. “So what do we do?”

“We drop the Hallows to the bottom of the sea and perform a sort of exorcism to sever the bond with Hermione.” Draco had a grim look on his face, determination emanating from steely eyes.

“Why not destroy them?” Harry questioned.

“We can’t, they’re truly indestructible,” Hermione admitted. “And what do you mean some sort of exorcism? Isn’t that a Muggle thing?”

Draco’s full lips twisted into a ghost of a smile. “Generally yes, but it aptly describes what we have to do. Right now he is bound to you, through the Hallows. If we only remove the Hallows, we run the risk of Riddle still existing through you. And I think we’ve moved beyond murdering each other.” There was a sorrow in those words that made her heart ache, but Draco pushed on. “So from what I know about binding rituals, I believe if we create a new binding it will replace the older one. But it can’t be a trivial bond or vow, it has to be life or death, just like Riddle’s current binding to you.”

Harry was staring at Draco, jaw agape. Hermione shifted, trying to understand the silent conversation passing between silver and emerald. A hand raked through wild black hair as Harry spoke again. “You’d be willing to do that for us? For her?”

“It’s the least I can do.” Draco’s voice was brittle, on the edge of an emotion she couldn’t define.

“What are you talking about?” She couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.

It was Harry who answered, brilliant green never straying from Draco’s visage. “He’s offering to tie his life to yours, to supplant Riddle. If you bleed, he’ll bleed. If you die, he’ll die. It’s rare, ancient magic from a time before…”

But they were fighting primeval magic, the Hallows crafted by no mortal hands. And Death was as old as time. It made sense that no modern spell or potion could destroy the connection with Riddle. Only sacrifice, a death for a life, could hold equal weight. Hermione was trembling as she turned to look at Draco, to memorize every detail of that strong jaw and angled cheeks, to fall into those quicksilver eyes that promised far too much.

“I can’t ask that of you.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I can’t ask you to do that. What if you die…”

Platinum fringe fell across luminous eyes. “It only works one way. If I die, you’ll be fine. The binding was meant, as far as I can tell, to be an oath of loyalty, a promise written in blood.”

“It’s too much.” Far too much to ask of him, of any of them. For her life to be so closely entwined with his, for his blood to flow only so long as hers did. It was a sacrifice she could not bear.

“There are no other options, Hermione.” Those eyes were boring through her broken soul, overturning every piece of her. “I poured through the library, at Hogwarts, the Manor and the cottage this afternoon. The only way to destroy a bonding made with the type of magic the Hallows use is either your death or another binding of greater weight. Right now Riddle is alive because of you and the Hallows, but we don’t know how closely he is tied to either and I don’t expect he’ll tell you. We have no choice but to sever both the links.”

Harry nodded, green eyes brimming with the awful truth. “I don’t want any of us to have to make these choices, but look what he did last time, when he was half mad? Now imagine what he can do now, having watched all those mistakes and with a sound mind.”

Riddle would take everything, not out of revenge, but because it gave him the power he craved. He would mold the world into his own twisted image, one charming smile at a time. Perhaps there would be less blood, but the destruction would be catastrophic. She’d seen what simmered beneath those dark eyes and she could not in good conscience release it upon the world. But neither could she condemn Draco to a life half lived, tied inexorably to hers.

Draco rose from his chair, sinking to his knees before her, silver eyes laden with everything she could not speak. “I do this because I want to. I love you, Hermione Granger, and this is my choice.”

A half sob tumbled from her lips. Her fingers were trembling as they traced the sharp curve of his jaw, his skin impossibly soft against her skin. “It’s not my choice.”

He leaned into her touch, lips brushing over her palm. “Then give me a better option.”

Moisture limned her eyes now, threatening to escape with every breath. Draco simply stared up at her, iron will behind those compelling silver eyes. She couldn’t. She couldn’t think of a single idea that would solve the problem at hand. She knew very little of ancient magic and trusted that Draco had truly poured through every resource they had before reaching this damning conclusion. And she trusted him, despite the aching scar across her thundering heart. He had never truly hurt her, not once after that night in the Shrieking Shack. He had only saved her, over and over again.

“Okay.”

Draco laid a painfully tender kiss against her palm before he leaned back to pull a book from beside his chair. It landed with a dull thud on the table in front of them. He paged swiftly through it, pausing at an illustration of an intricate knot drawn around two clasped hands.

“We do this now. It’s been nearly four months since Riddle crossed over and every day we give him is one too many.” Silver eyes challenged them to disagree, but neither Hermione nor Harry protested.

Instead, the guilt rose up within her, vines twining through her soul. If only she’d been braver, had understood that Riddle wasn’t a mere facet of her mind, but rather a rising threat. If she’d talked to him that night in her dormitory instead of waiting months, only summoning him when Draco demanded it of her. And even then she’d waited, too afraid of what truths might be revealed, until Riddle was flesh and blood and horrifyingly real.

“Potter, you’re going to have to do the binding. You won’t need to say any words, just draw this knot with your wand.” Draco’s focus shifted to Hermione, demanding her complete attention. “There are only two phrases, but we need to say them together. The first is _Sanguinem enim sanguis_ , My blood for your blood. The second is _Animae meae_ , My life for your life. We say the first when Potter crosses the first lines of the knot and the second when he finishes it. We have to say them at exactly the same time.”

Her heart was thundering in her chest, but she managed to nod, repeating the phrases silently until she was sure of them. Harry had moved from the chair to sit beside Draco on the floor, keen eyes studying every loop of the elaborate knot on the withered page. She watched his wand slowly begin to trace the lines in the air, gaining confidence until he looked up at Draco and nodded.

“Then we’re ready.” Draco held a hand out to Hermione and she slowly took it, letting him bring her into a kneeling position on the rug. He maintained his grip on her right hand. “There’s one last detail. Blood.”

Of course there was blood. That was the most lasting, powerful magic, the manna of life. Draco pulled a small penknife from his robe pocket, eyes locked on Hermione as he drew the blade softly across her palm. Several beads appeared at the surface and he never looked away, even as his lips caressed her palm, the blood now coating his lips.

“Your turn.”

She did her best to hold the blade steady as he turned his palm up for her. Her cut was inelegant, but functional. She lowered her head as he had done, the flutter of his pulse against his pale wrist making her quiver as her lips met the metallic blood. When she returned to her kneeling position he was staring at her in a way that broke every facet of her soul. She didn’t look away.

Harry cleared his throat, wand coming to hover over their joined hands, palms still oozing blood. “Ready?”

Hermione could hardly manage a nod, but Draco’s voice was even as he replied, “Yes.”

Harry’s wand looped and curved about their hands, ghosting just above her fevered skin. She tumbled into silver depths, allowing herself to simply exist within this hallowed moment. When the first cross of lines was almost made Draco gave a minute nod. As the path of Harry’s wand reached the crux, they spoke in unison.

“ _Sanguinem enim sanguis.”_

She could feel the weight of their words pulse within the blood between their plams. Even her lips tingled as Harry continued his ministrations. She was thankful Draco appeared to be marking the movements of the circling wand because she could barely remember her own name as she continued to succomb to the siren pull of those mercurial orbs and the heady magic pulsing within the swirl of their fused blood, pureblood and Mudblood indestinguishable now. His palm twitched against hers and she caught the final path of the wand.

“ _Animae meae.”_

The tingling was overpowering now, the surge of energy between their hands at its apex as their words passed into silence. She could feel a new tendril, entwined in her body and soul, pulsing at a rhythm that didn’t quite match her heart. But it matched the fluttering pulse at the base of his wrist. Her breath caught. She could feel him, his breath, his pulse alongside her own, as if they were two parts of a whole.

“Did it work?” Sweat shone on Harry’s brow as he looked between them.

Draco slowly released her hand, wand rising to banish the caked blood. A smear remained across his lips, a scarlet mark of his promise. Hermione couldn’t seem to find words as he gently wiped the blood from her lips and then his own.

“It worked.” The breathless words belied Draco’s even countenance.

Harry let out a sigh of relief as he collapsed to sprawl on the ground beside them. “Good.”

“Now we sink the Hallows into the depths of Poseidon.” Draco’s words were rough and deep, filled with a frigid determination Hermione envied.

“I have an idea about that,” Harry said, eyes suddenly dangerous.


	25. Twenty Four

**~*~ Twenty Four ~*~**

 

The waves crashed against the craggy rocks jutting out of the violent sea, spraying Hermione with salt and frigid water. Every breath tasted of brine, her cloak already white with powder. They huddled together on the edge of a rugged outcrop, the sea foaming mere meters beneath them. The wind was artic as it tore at their cloaks, threatening to drag them into the frothing abyss.

She could barely hear Harry as he called across the short distance between them. “Ron and I used to come here between apparations, made sure the Snatchers and the Death Eaters couldn’t follow us. Even if they’d gotten a trace on us, they were likely to fall into the sea if they tried to follow.”

Hermione eyed the water below. Unlike the white cliffs below Draco’s cottage, the ocean was angry here. One wrong step and she had no doubt it would swallow her whole. They were somewhere in the North Sea, atop an outcropping that hardly qualified as an isle. She imagined even the gentlest of storms would cover these weathered rocks and leave nothing but churning sea. It was an apt place to lay the Hallows to rest, for even the most daring and cunning would be ripped to pieces against those jutting rocks and roaring waves.

She gathered the Hallows from within her cape, ignoring the sorrowful pulse of the Elder wand, as if it knew the watery end it would soon meet. She wouldn’t miss it, or the dark hunger it evoked within her. Perhaps the Resurrection stone would be the hardest to part with, despite its role in Riddle’s return. It had given her precious extra moments with Luna, had eased the pain of her friend’s violent death enough for Hermione to recall fonder days and better memories.

And the cloak. It had never particularly served her beyond that night in the Forbidden Forest, but it had been a part of Harry, of their childhood. Every titillating adventure they’d weathered had included that cloak. Hermione knew he would mourn its loss far more than she. It had been passed down through generations of Potters, a last relic of his father.

She rubbed an errant tear away with the back of her glove. Now was not the time for hesitation or sentimentality. Riddle likely already knew he’d been cut off from Hermione after the binding incantation; it was a matter of time until he realized their plan for the Hallows.

She willed strength into her trembling fingers as she placed the items in the leaded box Draco had brought, the box that would take the Hallows down into the fathomless depths of this angry sea until Riddle was trapped beneath the waves with them, unable to escape his watery purgatory. She closed the lid with a clang that rang out above the cacophony of roaring waves. The lock was equally heavy, leaded as well and as thick as her wrist. It snapped into place with a low groan that sent shivers across her chilled flesh.

It took a levitation spell to lift it. The box wavered in the wind, but she held steady until it hovered above the roiling water below. She took a deep breath of sea-crusted air as she prepared to release it to the deep.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Hermione Granger.”

The box shook as she turned, all breath fleeing her lungs at the sight of Tom Riddle standing behind Draco, glinting blade digging into the pale flesh of his neck. The glint wavered in time with the tendril within her. The box crashed to the rock at her feet.

“Let him go.” She had no idea how her tongue formed the words. She was utterly numb, adrenaline chasing away everything but acrid fear.

“Give me the Hallows.” Riddle’s smile grew into a grotesque grin. “That wasn’t very kind of you, Hermione, supplanting the bond between us. But it’s no matter really, I am nearly strong enough to exist with the Hallows alone.”

“I won’t.” She couldn’t. But the knife dug deeper into Draco’s flesh and a small trickle of red marred his pale skin.

“Don’t give in,” Draco hissed, the knife cutting deeper still as he spoke.

But her resolution was wavering with each rivulet of blood. Could she truly sentence Draco to death to save the world from Tom Riddle? The consequences of giving the Hallows to Riddle were too dire to allow, but her soul was already in shambles. Allowing that knife to complete its trajectory would be letting go of everything still holding her together. Draco had sacrificed too much already and she couldn’t be the one to doom him, not when he was the only strand of light left within her.

She could sense his panicked pulse through the bond as she lifted the lead box from the ground once more. Instead of casting it toward the angry waters she directed it slowly towards Riddle. Silver eyes flared, begging her to reconsider, but her decision had been made.

“The key to it all, Hermione Granger, is not to conquer Death, but to become him.”

The words were smug, the burn of those dark eyes impossibly bright as they tracked the progress of the box. Draco was still now, quicksilver eyes overwhelmed with emotion as he stared only at her, the box forgotten. His lips moved silently, shaping the words _I love you_. Panic seized her a moment before he exploded into action, pushing back against Riddle with all his might. The pair teetered on the edge before tumbling backward into the raging abyss.

It took her a moment to realize there wasn’t a banshee atop the tallest crag, that it was her blood-curdling scream ripping through the salty air, her wail that rose in an endless keen as raging water swallowed all traces of black or silver.

She hardly noticed Harry rip the box from the rock and hurl it into the foam behind them. She was on her knees, the rough gravel digging into her flesh, but everything was numb in a new and horrifying way.

Green eyes flashed in front of her. “Can you still feel him?”

She blinked in incomprehension and Harry shook her shoulders, no hint of gentleness in his touch. “Dammit, Hermione. Focus. Can you still feel him?”

He meant that tendril that snaked about her heart, that still pulsed with life, if only barely. She forced her head to nod. “Yes. But he’s getting weaker.”

“Stay here. If that pulse stops or I don’t come back within ten minutes, leave.” Harry’s fingers clawed into her skin. “Can you do that?”

She wasn’t sure she could do anything at all, but Hermione murmured, “Yes.”

Then Harry was leaping off the precipice into the dark waters below, leaving her utterly alone. Her hands shook as she pressed them to the stone, her gloves doing little to protect her from the sharp edges and frigid temperature. Her whole body was shaking, screams still tearing from her lips, fueled by the cold vice of despair clamping down on her soul, crushing her with every breath she took.

She thought she’d known terror in that watery bathroom with blood on her hands and Draco’s eyes slowly going out, or even in that meadow as Voldemort did his worst. But this was infinitely worse. She had no eyes to look into at all, no ability press him to her, no idea how to save him. She could feel him, growing weaker, his vine slowly untangling from her. Would she know when he was gone or would a piece of him linger within her still?

It was too much to think, too excruciating to imagine. Her hands dug into the sharpest stones, the pain a welcome distraction from the tsunami of terror coursing through her.

How had she not forgiven him? He’d loved her until the bitter end and she’d not been strong enough to forgive him before it was all too late. It seemed ridiculous now, that strand of betrayal nothing to the fresh wound ripping through her. So he’d lied to her to save the world, to save her from the pain of what had to be done. Had she not done the same to save him as he plotted to kill the headmaster? Had she not taken away his choices until salvation was his only option?

And now he’d given his life for her, for Harry, for the world. And she’d been too stubborn, too self-absorbed to see what had been in front of her. She’d given everything for him and it had changed him. He wasn’t that lost boy at Hogwarts, a mark on his arm he could not hide from. He was a man that loved her. Loved her so bloody much he’d killed Harry Potter and thrown himself off a cliff. Andromeda was right. This wasn’t the type of love that got a nice house in the suburbs and a dog. This was a love that launched a thousand ships and brought the world to the brink of disaster or back from it in equal measure.

When had he changed? When had she ceased to understand the gravity between them? Had it been in those torturous months before they’d met in Hyde Park, when Voldemort had tried to strip away his soul? Or perhaps as he’d watched Bellatrix turn her wand on Hermione over and over again, his eyes shattering as they remained locked with hers. She could not say for sure, only that the change was undeniable now.

But despite all that, he would die in the cold waters of a barren isle, unmarked by any grave. And she would never tell him she loved him again, never fall into those unbearable silver eyes that held her soul within their depths.

Her frantic screams faded to a desperate chant, the words tumbling from her lips in an anguished, eternal circle. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you…”


	26. Twenty Five

**~*~ Twenty Five ~*~**

 

Hermione was barely coherent by the time Harry’s voice penetrated the air. She was swaying, arms wrapped about her torso, the mantra still moving her frozen lips.

“Hermione!” Shocking, cold fingers grasped her chin, forcing her to meet exhausted green. “I can’t manage to apparate us without splinching us, just getting back took everything. I need you to do it. We need you to do it.”

She trembled at his words, gaze landing on the body draped across his shoulders. Her heart skipped a beat as Draco’s face came into focus, skin marred with innumerable gashes, red more prominent than white. But she could feel his pulse as her hand rested against his tattered skin, so faint it had faded from her heart. He was impossibly cold, clinging to life by the barest thread.

She closed her fingers around her wand, the wand she’d bought at Ollivander’s so many years ago, not the Elder wand that now drifted beneath those punishing waters. She drew Harry to her, arm winding around him as she closed her eyes. A moment later the crash of waves had vanished and they were standing at the doors of St. Mungo’s.

 

~*~

 

“You don’t have to help.”

Draco stood at the window to his hospital room, elegant fingers resting gently on the sill as he gazed into the rain-splattered glass, the water morphing the world into a blur of autumn color. Hermione continued to gather what meager belongings he had into a bag. It had been a week since he’d gone under the waves and she’d been sure he was lost to her, the tendril of him fading to deafening silence as she’d knelt on that forsaken isle. They hadn’t talked about any of it, not her decision to damn the world to save him, not even the bond that still pulsed between them, his heartbeat a whisper against her own.

Harry had stopped by when Draco had finally woken. What had passed between Harry and Draco could not be ignored. They had both given their lives for a better world, a world without Tom Riddle or Voldemort, a world without such unnecessary suffering and prejudice. The handshake the two had shared was the beginning of something new, a chance to move beyond the painful echoes of the past and begin anew.

And yet Hermione could not forget those echoes, the memories that brought her to her knees, the agony that lingered within her very marrow. Even with every possible facet of Tom Riddle eradicated, she still felt that darkness itching beneath her skin, the web of scars still fresh with the memory of the killing curse. While she had forgiven Draco entirely in those desperate moments when he hung between life and a watery grave, she had found no path to forgiving herself, to letting those scars fade into the patchwork of her soul.

“I can do it myself, Hermione.”

His hands closed around the bag, gently tugging it from her hands. There was nothing left to collect anyway. Hermione swallowed, a bitter taste in her mouth. “Can I at least help you settle in at the cottage?”

Impenetrable silver stared down at her. “If you want.”

“I do.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but that was the only reaction she received. Undeterred, she did a final sweep of the room before heading to the door. St. Mungo’s wasn’t the place to be having this conversation, but they would have it. Of that she was certain.

The trip through the halls was swift and soon enough they stood outside in the pouring rain, torrents of water plastering her hair and cloak in an instant. Draco seemed utterly unperturbed by the deluge. Gritting her teeth, Hermione wrapped a hand around his cold wrist and apparated them to the coast.

They stumbled, but neither fell, as they appeared adjacent to the cottage, Narcissa’s grave only a few meters away. The weather was calmer here, the sun flickering through broken clouds.

Draco didn’t protest as she led him away from the cliffs to the cottage. She draped her sodden cloak across one of the kitchen chairs before turning to survey him. Platinum hair was matted to his face and neck, his cloak as sopping as her own. He gently placed the bag on the table before stripping off his cloak, letting it drop to the floor.

He turned toward the bedroom without a word and she couldn’t help the plea that escaped her lips. “Aren’t you going to talk to me?”

He paused, broad back still towards her as he murmured, “I have no idea what to say. What you did…”

“Then let me talk.” Hermione closed the distance between them, her hands hovering over his broad shoulders before dropping to her sides.

She could see the tension in his corded muscles as he sighed. “Fine.”

“I wasn’t fair to you before, when I told you I needed space. I mean it was probably good to take some time, to understand what had happened. But then I still couldn’t. I was so scared, Draco. Not of you, but of what I was capable of, of the darkness beneath my skin.” The line of his shoulders relaxed a fraction as she continued to speak. “And then I found out about Riddle and you offered your life up to me, to save us all. And I knew I loved you more than ever, that you are everything to me. I knew that deep in my bones, all the way to bottom of my soul despite the darkness that ensnared me. So when he held that knife to your neck and threatened to take you from me, I didn’t think about the world, I thought about you.”

Draco slowly turned, expression still painfully unreadable. “I don’t deserve that sort of love, Hermione. Not after all I’ve done. The world is not worth my life.”

“It is to me.” Her hand trembled as it pushed the wet locks away from his forehead, his skin unbearably hot beneath her fingers. “I would make the same decision every time. I forgive you for every last thing you did to bring us here.”

“You don’t know a fraction of my sins.” His breath caught, she could feel it deep inside, that preternatural awareness she had of him now. “I thought… I thought I could be worthy of you, but then I saw how you suffered when I killed Harry, even when you understood why, even when he didn’t die. I saw how broken you were, even after months, and I started to wonder why I kept trying, why I was pulling you back to me, when I was the cause of it all. Then you decided to throw the world away for me. And I know I don’t come close to deserving that and that you deserve so much more than me.”

“I deserve you,” she pleaded.

He took a step back, her hand dropping into the void between them. “I tortured you, Hermione. I tortured you for no reason except I was cowardly child, unwilling to look beyond the truths I’d been taught. And because of that, I tried to kill you, because I refused to open my eyes. And even when I knew how wrong I’d been, I couldn’t save you when my aunt ripped into your flesh and scarred you forever. I forced you into killing Voldemort, made you split your soul even though I knew exactly what that would do to you. I may love you, but I’m no good for you. I am not worth destroying the world for. This has to end here.”

The anguish had finally fractured those silver eyes. Hermione’s breath was caught in her throat, her limbs numb with a terror rivaled only by those minutes after she’d watched him slip beneath the dark waters.

“You’re no good?” The words tumbled from her lips in cascade of dark desperation. “I’m the one who actually killed Voldemort and brought Tom Riddle back in the process. I’m the one with Bellatrix’s eyes staring back at her in the mirror, with darkness crawling beneath my skin. If you’re to be accountable for all you’ve done, then so should I. I damned the world to save you, you idiot! I’m the least deserving of us all.”

“I…” His lips fell closed, unable to find an answer to her assault.

“But I need you.” The words were fierce, her fingers digging into his shirt as she continued. “Draco, I need you. I realize the pain will never fade. I’m always going to know how it felt to have pieces of my soul stolen from me, how it feels to walk beside the darkness within. But none of that pain amounts to losing you. I may have thought I loved you when we were still at Hogwarts, and I’m sure I did in some twisted way, but that love is nothing compared to the way I feel now. You’re literally inside of me! I can feel every beat of your heart, every breath you take. You complete me and I will not face life without you. I cannot heal these scars without your help.”

He stared at her, lips parted and eyes splintered, raw in a way that tore at her heartstrings. “I’ll only hurt you.”

“You can’t take away my pain,” she replied. “No one can. But you can stay. You can stay and help me heal. Let me forgive you, let both of us find what life can be beyond this carnage, this desperation that takes and takes.”

Hermione fell to her knees before him, her fingers dragging across the fabric of his trousers. “Draco, please.”

She felt the shudder that buckled his knees in her heart as he collapsed against her. His forehead dropped to meet hers, his breath hot on her lips. “I want to give you a chance at the life you deserve.”

“Then stay with me, let me love you.” Her hands tangled the disheveled hair at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know how to love, not properly.” His lips were against her cheek now, dragging sparks across her skin, igniting the heat within.

“Then let us teach each other.”

She captured his lips before he could protest further, pulling him against her until every millimeter of sodden skin was molded to her. They collapsed backward, into the hall behind her, his weight pressing into every curve. His lips dipped to the curve of her neck, teeth grazing trails of lightning. Hermione gasped against him, head dropping back as he continued his assault.

Her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt before desperation got the better of her and she ripped it away. He tore her jumper and tee over her head a moment later, their flesh coming together as his lips claiming hers once more. The heat pooling at the base of her spine was suddenly unbearable, primal need curling through every pore. Her hands trembled against his belt and then his trousers, unsteady as he drew keening moans with supple lips.

Draco helped her lift her hips as he tugged away the final layer between them. Then he was above her, sinking into her in a way utterly familiar but new in its unbridled intensity. She could feel the staccato of his pulse against her skin, but also inside, his life pulsing within her. With every thrust fireworks exploded within her veins, her entire soul crackling with their ardor.

She was breathless, drowning in silver, surrendering every sense to the beat of his heart within her. Even as he collapsed beside her on the hall rug, the energy continued to course through her, bringing with it a pristine serenity, a certainty that she had found peace at last.

Draco turned to her, lips bruised with passion, silver eyes wide with possibility. “Hermione…”

She put a finger to his trembling lips. “You don’t need to say anything at all.”

So they lay in silence, her head resting atop his frantic heart, with the world stretched out before them, utterly limitless, begging them to live within it.

 

~*~

 

_It was dark. Darker even than the eternal limbo he’d survived for decades. The air was thick, too thick to be the atmosphere and dank in a way that made his bones ache for sunlight. He could feel the water filling his lungs, could feel the tang of the sea against his tongue, but he wasn’t drowning. Perhaps he did not need to breathe at all anymore._

_He could feel the craggy bottom of the sea against his shoes, and yet more often than not his feet slipped through the rocks, incorporeal and inelegant. Ever since she’d tied herself to that insolent boy, he’d started losing his grip on this plane. It had been small at first, a finger through the knife at the boy’s neck, a toe sinking into the solid dirt below. But now his fingers passed directly through the box beside him, no ability remaining to touch the objects contained within, so essential to his very existence._

_But he was patient. He had waited decades already and would wait centuries, even millennium more, if it meant his day in the sun. There was no rush, not even the burn to exact revenge against the clever girl and the boy who loved her. Would he destroy them if given the chance? Most certainly, but revenge was messy and ultimately unnecessary. But he would wait however long it took for another mortal to find the Hallows and then he would rise. Would rise with all the glory his former self had never found, had been too broken to begin to grasp the possibility of. He would become a god among men and there would be no killing him, no stopping him. Tom Riddle would return. He had conquered death; the world would be easy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends, or does it? While I have not currently started a sequel, I keep the possibility of one open. As many of you noted, the bottom of the ocean doesn't exactly keep the Hallows away from humanity for all that long. I'll let you all know if I ever write a subsequent piece.
> 
> So in this story I wanted to give Draco a chance at the growth and redemption he needed terribly at the end of Walk the Line. Because of the horrors he experienced with Voldemort and the passage of time, I gave him the opportunity to become the person Hermione knew he could be. The mania and claustrophobia that surrounded Walk the Line were also substantially reduced, giving both Hermione and Draco the opportunity to see life in a greater context.
> 
> So yeah. I hope you enjoyed. I appreciate each and every one of you that read, regardless of if you give kudos, bookmark or comment. I'm just glad you're reading my words.
> 
> Once again, for Cymbal and her infinite love.


End file.
